A  N  T  O  N  I  A 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 

Copyright,  1898^ 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


University  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S. A 


©etrtcatiom 


nno   M.  EDOUARD    RODRIGUES,  the   father    of   the 

fatherless,   and  friend    of   the    friendless;    who    does 

good  for  its  own  sake,  with  the  same  simplicity,  the  same 

freedom  and  readiness,  with  which  he  interprets  Mozart  and 

Beethoven. 

GEORGE    SAND. 


226393 


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>•    •       •  •, 
'  •  •  J»  •  » 


•••.♦%•••  .• 


' '  On  the  next,  night  they  met  in  the  groves  of 
the  gardens^ 


stud! 


r 


ANT  ONI  A. 


TT  was  the  month  of  April,  in  the  year  I785y  in  Paris ; 
"■-  the  spring  that  year  was  a  genuine  spring.  The  gar- 
dens were  in  holiday  dress,  the  grass  was  enamelled  with 
daisies,  the  birds  were  singing,  and  the  lilacs  were  grow- 
ing in  such  profusion  near  Julien*s  window,  that  their  full- 
blown thyrsi  bent  over  into  his  very  room,  and  scattered 
tlieir  little  flowerets  over  the  great  white  squares  of  the 
floor  of  his  studio. 

Julien  Thierry  was  a  flowertpainter,  like  his  father, 
Andre  Thierry,  who  had  been  very  famous  in  the  time 
of  Louis  XV.  as  a  decorator  of  friezes,  panels  of  dining- 
rooms,  and  ceilings  of  boudoirs.  In  his  skilful  hands 
these  graceful  ornaments  became  real  works  of  art ;  so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  he  ceased  to  be  an  artisan,  and 
gained  a  great  reputation  as  an  artist ;  he  was  highly 
esteemed  by  persons  of  taste,  his  work  commanded  great 
prices,  and  he  was  a  person  of  consideration  in  society. 
Julien,  his  pupil,  devoted  himself  to  painting  upon  canvas. 
In  his  generation,  the  light  and  charming  decorations 
in  the  Pompadour  style  had  ceased  to  be  fashion- 
able. The  severer  taste  of  the  Louis  XVI.  era  no  longer 
scattered  flowers  over  ceilings  and  walls,  it  framed  them. 
Julien,  therefore,  painted  flowers,  fruits,  pearl-shells, 
brilliant  butterflies,  green  lizards,  and  drops  of  dew,  in 
the  manner  of  Mignon.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  talent, 
he  was  handsome,  he  was  twenty-four  years  old,  and  his 
father  had  left  him  nothing  but  debts. 

The  widow  of  Andre  Thierry  was  with  Julien,  in  this 
studio  where  he  was  at  work,  and  where  the  bunches  of 


lilac  were  being  despoiled  by  the  caresses  of  the  \^  arm 
breeze.  Although  a  woman  of  sixty,  she  was  well  pre- 
served :  her  eyes  were  still  beautiful ;  her  hair  was  almost 
black,  and  her  hands  were  delicate.  Small,  slender, 
fair,  and  dressed  with  exquisite  neatness,  although  with 
extreme  simplicity,  ^i\e  was  knitting,  and  every  now 
and  then  looked  up  at  her  son,  absorbed  in  studying  a  rose. 

*' Julien,"  she  said,  "why  is  it  that  you  do  not  sing 
any  longer  at  your  work?  You  might,  perhaps,  per- 
suade the  nightingale  to  let  us  hear  its  voice." 

"Listen,  mother,  he  is  beginning  now  of  his  own  ac- 
cord," replied  Julien ;  "  he  does  not  require  a  leader." 

In  fact,  the  nightingale,  for  the  first  time  in  the  year, 
began  at  this  very  moment  to  pour  forth  his  pure  and  re- 
sounding notes. 

"  Ah !  it  is  really  singing ! "  cried  Madam  Thierry. 
"A  year  has  gone  by.  Do  you  see  it,  Julien  ? "  she 
added,  as  the  young  man,  interrupting  his  work,  gazed 
into  the  thick  grove  before  the  window. 

"  I  thought  that  I  saw  her,"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh ; 
"  but  I  was  mistaken." 

He  returned  to  his  easel.  His  mother  looked  at  him 
anxiously,  but  asked  no  further  questions. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause, 
"you  have  a  beautiful  voice  also,  and  I  love  to  hear  the 
pretty  songs  that  your  poor  father  sang  so  well  —  only  a 
year  ago,  at  this  time  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Julien,  "you  want  me  to  sing  his  songs, 
and  then  you  weep.     No,  I  will  not  sing  them." 

"  I  will  not  shed  a  tear,  I  promise  you !  Sing  me 
sortiething  gay,  and  I  will  laugh  —  as  if  he  were  here.'* 

"  No,  do  not  ask  me,  mother  !  It  pains  me  as  well  as 
you  to  hear  those  songs.  Give  me  a  little  time.  Let  all 
come  about  gently.  Do  not  let  us  do  violence  to  our  sor- 
row." 

"  Julien,  you  must  not  talk  of  sorrow  any  longer," 
said  the  mother  firmly,  although  in  an  agitated  voice. 
"  I  was  weak  at  first,  but  you  will  pardon  me  !  It  was 
no  light  blow  to  lose  forty  years  of  happiness  in  a  single 
day  !     But  I  should  have  remembered  that  your  loss  was 


ANTONIA.  J 

greater  than  mine,  for  you  remain  to  me  ;  —  while  I  —  T 
am  good  for  nothing  excepting  to  love  you." 

"And  what  more  do  I  require?"  said  Julien,  kneeling 
at  his  mother's  side.  *'  I  know  that  you  love  me  as  no 
one  ever  will  love  me.  And  do  not  say  that  you  have 
been  weak.  You  have  buried  your  sorrows  in  your  own 
heart  as  well  as  you  could  ;  I  have  seen  and  understood 
all  your  struggles,  and  I  thank  you  for  them,  my  poor 
mother !  You  have  given  me  strength,  and  1  have 
needed  your  support,  for  I  have  had  to  suffer  for  you  as 
well  as  myself.  Your  courage  gave  me  faith  that  God 
would  perform  a  miracle  in  my  favor ;  that  He  would 
preserve  your  health  and  life  in  spite  of  the  most  cruel 
trials ;  and  He  has  granted  me  this  reward.  You  do  not 
feel  ill  now,  do  you,  mother?" 

"  No,  my  child,  I  am  really  well !  You  are  right 
in  thinking  that  God  will  sustain  those  who  are  true  to 
themselves  ;  that  He  will  give  strength  to  those  who  pray 
for  it  with  their  whole  hearts.  Do  not  think  that  I  am 
wretched  !  I  have  wept  a  great  deal,  —  how  could  I  do 
otherwise?  He  was  so  good,  so  amiable,  so  happy! 
It  seemed  as  if  he  had  still  many  years  to  live.  God 
decreed  otherwise.  For  my  part,  I  have  had  so  much 
happiness  in  my  life,  that  I  had  really  no  right  to  expect 
anything  more.  And  God  was  merciful,  even  while 
afflicting  me,  for  He  has  left  me  the  best,  the  most  be- 
loved of  sons  !  What  right  have  I,  then,  to  weep,  and 
pray  for  death  ?  No,  no  ;  I  will  rejoin  your  good  father 
when  my  hour  comes,  and  when  we  meet  he  will  say, 
'  You  have  done  well  to  live,  to  linger  in  yonder  lower 
world,  for  the  sake  of  our  well-beloved  child.' " 

"You  see,  then,"  said  Julien,  embracing  his  mother, 
"  that  we  are  neither  of  us  unhappy  any  longer,  and 
that  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  sing  for  our  amuse- 
ment. We  can  think  of  hinn  without  bitterness  ;  we  can 
cherish  each  other  without  selfishness." 

Madam  Thierry  folded  her  sou  to  her  heart  for  a 
moment,  and  they  resumed  their  diiferent  occupations. 

This  scene  occurred  in  an  old  pavilion,  dating  back  to 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIH.,  that  stood  at  the  end  of  the 


4  ANTONIA. 

me  de  Babylone.  The  most  modem  building  on  this  street, 
and  the  one  nearest  to  the  pavilion,  was  a  house  now 
demolished,  which  was  then  called  the  hotel  d'Estrelle. 

At  the  same  time  that  Julien  and  his  mother  were 
talking  in  the  pavilion,  two  persons  were  chatting  to- 
gether in  a  pretty  little  saloon  of  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  — 
a  fresh,  cosy  drawing-room  decorated  in  the  taste  of  the 
latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  —  that  is,  a 
graceful,  bastard  Greek  style,  a  little  cold  in  the  lines, 
but  harmonious,  and  enriched  with  gilding  on  a  white 
and  pearl  ground.  The  Countess  d'Estrelle  was  dressed 
simply  in  a  half-mourning  gray  silk ;  the  Baroness 
d' Ancourt,  her  friend,  was  in  demi-toilette,  —  a  costume 
adapted  for  informal  visits ;  that  is  to  say,  making  a 
great  display  of  muslins,  ribbons,  and  laces. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  said  to  the  countess,  "  I  do  not 
understand  you  at  all.  You  are  twenty  years  old,  beau- 
tiful as  an  angel,  and  yet  you  persist  in  living  alone,  like 
an  insignificant  bourgeoise.  Your  two  years  of  mourning 
have  expired,  and  every  one  knows  you  had  no  occasion 
to  regret  your  husband ;  no  man  ever  lived  who  so  little 
deserved  regret.  He  was  considerate  enough  to  leave 
you  a  fortune,  and  that  really  was  the  only  sensible  act  of 
his  life." 

"  Upon  that  point,  dear  baroness,  you  are  utterly  mis- 
taken. The  count  left  me  a  fortune,  it  is  true,  but  it  was 
encumbered  with  debts.  Assured  that  I  might  liberate  it 
in  a  few  years  by  making  certain  sacrifices,  and  enduring 
certain  privations,  I  accepted  the  inheritance  without 
close  examination ;  and  now,  after  two  years  of  uncer- 
tainty,—  after  endless  explanations  that  I  have  never 
understood  at  all,  —  my  new  lawyer,  —  who  is  a  very 
honest  man,  —  assures  me  that  I  have  been  deceived,  and 
am  poor  instead  of  being  rich.  It  was  upon  this  subject, 
ifiy  dear,  that  I  was  consulting  with  my  lawyer  this  morn- 
ing, in  order  to  decide  whether  or  not  I  can  keep  the 
hotel  d'Estrelle." 

"  What !  sell  your  hotel !  Impossible,  my  dear  I 
It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  memory  of  your  husband. 
His  family  would  never  allow  it." 


ANTONIA.  5 

"  They  say  they  will  not  allow  it ;  but  they  say  also 
that  they  will  not  help  me  in  any  way.  What  do  they 
expect,  and  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  They  are  a  contemptible  set,  that  family,"  cried  the 
baroness  ;  "  but  nothing  would  surprise  me  on  the  part 
of  the  old  marquis  and  his  bigot  of  a  wife." 

At  this  momentjktj^arcel  Thierry  was  announced. 

"  Show  him  in,"  saidtEe"coiitttess  ;  and,  turning  to  the 
baroness,  she  added,  "it  is  the  person  of  whom  I  was 
just  speaking,  —  my  lawyer." 

*'  In  that  case  I  will  go." 

"  That  is  by  no  means  necessary.  He  will  only  have  a 
few  words  to  say  ;  and,  since  you  know  my  position  —  " 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  remain.  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart,  for  I  am  interested  in  all  that  concerns  you." 

The  lawyer  entered. 

He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  apparently  forty  years  old, 
and  unusually  bald  for  that  age ;  his  face  was  frank, 
cheerful  and  serene,  although  he  had  a  remarkably  pen- 
etrating, and  even  scornful  expression.  His  professional 
experiences  had  made  him  practical,  and  perhaps  scep- 
tical ;  but  it  was  evident  that  they  had  not  destroyed  his 
ideal  of  integrity  and  honor  ;  perhaps  they  had  only  made 
him  the  better  able  to  appreciate  and  recognize  that  ideal. 

"  Ah,  well.  Monsieur  Thierry,"  said  the  countess, 
pointing  to  a  chair,  "have  you  heard  any  news  since 
morning,  that  you  take  the  trouble  to  return  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  replied  the  lawyer  ;  "  M.  the  Marquis 
d'Estrelle  has  sent  his  business  agent  to  me  with  an  offer 
that  1  only  await  your  permission  to  accept.  He  proposes 
to  come  to  your  assistance  by  relinquishing  in  your  favor 
certain  small  pieces  of  property,  not  of  sufficient  value 
to  cover  the  debts  that  harass  you,  but  which  will  re- 
lieve you  for  the  moment,  and  delay  the  sale  of  your 
hotel,  by  enabling  you  to  pay  something  upon  account  to 
}our  creditors." 

"Upon  account!  Is  that  all?"  cried  the  baroness, 
indignantly.  "  Is  that  all  the  family  d'Estrelle  can  do 
for  the  wife  of  a  prodigal  ?     It  is  perfectly  infamous  !  " 

**It  is  certainly  not   magnanimous,"  replied   Marcel 


6  ANTONIA, 

Thierry,  "  but  I  have  exerted  my  eloquence  in  vain,  and  so 
the  matter  stands.  As  Madam  d'Estrelle  has  no  fortune 
of  her  own,  she  is  obliged,  in  order  to  retain  a  very  mod- 
erate dowry,  to  submit  to  the  conditions  of  a  family  who 
possess  neither  delicacy  nor  generosity." 

"  Say  who  possess  neither  heart  nor  honor,"  replied 
the  baroness,  rhetorically. 

"  Say  nothing  at  all,"  said  the  countess,  who  spoke  at 
last,  after  listening  with  resignation  to  all  that  had  been 
said.  "  These  people  are  what  they  are,  and  I  am  not 
the  one  to  judge  them,  I  who  bear  their  name.  We  are 
strangers  in  all  other  respects,  and  I  have  no  excuse  for 
complaining,  for  it  is  I  alone  who  am  guilty." 

"  Guilty  !  "  said  the  baroness,  rolling  back  in  her  arm- 
chair in  her  surprise. 

"  Guilty  !  "  repeated  the  lawyer,  with  a  smile  of  in- 
credulity. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Madam  d'Estrelle,  "  I  have  com- 
mitted one  great  fault  in  my  life :  I  consented  to  marry 
a  man  to  whom  I  felt  an  instinctive  aversion.  It  was 
cowardly.  I  was  a  child,  and  was  compelled  to  choose 
between  a  convent  and  a  disagreeable  husband.  Afraid 
of  the  eternal  seclusion  of  the  cloister,  I  accepted  in- 
stead the  eternal  humiliation  of  an  uncongenial  mar- 
riage. Like  so  many  others,  I  thought  that  wealth  would 
take  the  place  of  happiness.  Happiness!  I  do  not 
know,  I  have  never  known  what  it  was.  I  was  taught 
to  believe  that  it  consisted,  above  all  things,  in  riding  in 
a  carriage,  wearing  diamonds,  and  having  a  box  at  the 
opera.  I  was  bewildered,  intoxicated,  lulled  to  sleep 
with  presents.  I  will  not  say  that  I  was  forced  to  give 
my  hand,  for  it  would  not  be  true.  Gratings,  bars,  bolts, 
the  life-long  prison  of  the  convent  awaited  me,  in  case  I 
had  refused  ;  but  not  the  axe  of  the  executioner  ;  and,  if 
I  had  been  brave,  I  might  have  said  No,  We  women 
have  no  courage,  dear  baroness,  we  may  as  well  acknowl- 
edge it ;  we  are  not  strong  enough  bravely  to  sacrifice 
ourselves ;  to  hide  the  spring-time  of  our  youth  under 
the  black  veil ;  and  yet  it  would  be  prouder,  nobler,  and 
perhaps  sweeter  to  do  this  than  to  let  ourselves  fall  inta 


ANTONIA.  7 

tlie  arms  of  the  first  stranger  who  is  presented  to  us.  I 
was  cowardly  then,  vain,  self-forgetful ;  I  committed  this 
error,  this  folly,  this  crime,  in  a  word  !  It  shall  never 
be  repeated,  but  I  cannot  forget  that  I  deserve  my  pun- 
ishment. Misled  by  a  frivolous  ambition,  I  threw  i>iy. 
life  away,  and  now  I  see  how  deceived  I  was ;  I  am  not 
even  rich.  I  must  sell  my  diamonds,  aud  soon,  perhaps, 
shall  be  forced  to  abandon  the  very  house  that  bears  my 
coat  of  arms.  This  is  right,  —  I  feel,  I  recognize  tho 
justice  of  my  fate ;  I  repent,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
pitied,  and  I  shall  accept  without  discussion  the  alms 
which  the  parents  of  my  husband,  in  order  to  save  his 
honor,  choose  to  bestow  upon  me." 

When  Julie  d'Estrelle  paused,  perfect  silence  pre- 
vailed, for  her  auditors  were  surprised  and  moved.  She 
had  taken  no  pains  to  conceal  her  grief.  Weary  of  the 
discussion  of  her  material  interests,  she  seemed  irresist- 
ibly impelled  to  pour  forth  her  spiritual  life,  and  seek  the 
philosophical  explanation  of  her  position.  The  haughty 
Amelie  d'Ancourt  was  shocked,  rather  than  touched,  by 
"ner~cb»fcssion,  condemning,  as  it  did,  her  own  ideas  and 
tlie  habits  of  her  class  ;  she  thought  her  friend  imprudent, 
moreover,  in  speaking  so  freely  in  the  presence  of  an  in- 
significant lawyer. 

As  for  the  lawyer,  he  was  really  moved,  but  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  similar  scenes.  He  knew  how  fre- 
quently people  (even  those  in  the  highest  rank)  forget 
conventionalities  when  carried  away  by  emotion,  and  he 
gave  no  expression  to  his  sympathy. 

"  My  beautiful  client,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  is  a  sweet 
and  sincere  woman,  but  she  is  right  in  blaming  herself; 
when  any  one  has  resolved  to  say  wo,  there  is  no  human 
law  that  can  force  them  to  say  yes.  Like  the  rest  of  her 
class,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  betrayed  into  sin  by  a 
passion  for  shining  toys,  but  she  confesses  her  error 
sadly,  and,  in  so  far,  is  superior  to  most  of  her  compan- 
ions. It  is  not  my  duty  to  console  her ;  I  will  confine 
myself  to  saving  her  —  if  that  is  possible." 

•'  Madam,"  he  said,  after  making  these  reflections, 
'•  your  prospects  are  brigliter  now  than  they  have  been. 


8  ANTONIA. 

The  marquis  will  not  consent  to  make  you  independent, 
perhaps,  but  he  will  not  let  you  suiFer.  The  small  pres- 
ent that  he  has  just  offered  you  is  not  the  last ;  I  have 
been  given  to  understand  this,  and  I  am  sure  of  what  I 
isay.  Let  his  son's  creditors  threaten  you  again  in  the 
course  of  a  few  months,  and  he  will  again  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket,  to  prevent  the  sale  of  your  hotel.  For- 
get these  bickerings,  therefore  ;  do  not  think  of  moving ; 
trust  to  time  and  circumstances." 

''  That  is  all  very  well,  monsieur,"  said  the  baroness, 
who  was  longing  to  put  in  her  word  and  display  her 
aristocratic  pride.  "  Your  advice  is  excellent,  but  if  I 
were  the  countess  I  would  not  follow  it.  I  would  refuse 
outright  these  contemptible  little  charities !  Yes,  I 
would  blush  to  accept  them.  I  would  go  proudly  to  live 
in  a  convent,  or,  still  better,  with  one  of  my  friends,  —  the 
Baroness  d'Ancourt,  for  instance,  —  and  I  would  say  to 
the  marquis  and  marchioness,  *  Arrange  matters  as  you 
choose ;  sell  my  property.  These  debts  are  not  of  my 
contracting,  and  I  shall  not  distress  myself  about  the 
debts  of  your  son.  Pay  them  with  the  fragments  of  the 
fortune  that  he  left  me,  and,  if  you  dare,  allow  the  world 
to  behold  the  spectacle  of  my  destitution.*  That  is  what 
I  would  do,  my  dear  Julie  ;  the  second  marriage  of  the 
marquis  has  made  him  rich,  and,  I  answer  for  it,  that 
the  fear  of  scandal  would  force  him  to  pursue  a  different 
course." 

''Will  the  Countess  d'Estrelle  follow  this  advice?" 
said  the  lawyer.     "  Shall  I  break  off  negotiations  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  countess  ;  "  tell  me  at  once  what  my 
father-in-law's  present  is ;  whatever  it  may  be,  I  shall 
accept  it." 

"  It  consists,"  replied  Marcel  Thierry,  "  of  a  small 
farm  in  Beauvoisis,  worth  about  twenty  thousand  francs, 
and  a  pavilion,  old,  but  not  dilapidated,  situated  in  this 
Btreet,^at  the  end  of  the  garden  of  your  hotel." 

"  Ah,  that  old  pavilion  of  Richelieu's  era,"  said  the 
countess,  carelessly. 

"  A  hovel,"  said  the  baroness  ;  "  good  for  nothing  but 
to  be  torn  down." 


ANTONIA.  9 

" That  is  possible,"  replied  Thierry,  "but  the  land  is 
valuable ;  the  street  is  being  built  up,  and  it  can  eapily 
be  sold  for  the  site  of  a  building." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  allow  a  building  to  be  erected 
so  near  nie,"  said  Julie  ;  "  a  house  overlooking  my  gar- 
den, and  almost  my  apartments?" 

"  You  would  have  to  require  the  house  to  turn  its 
back  to  you ;  there  need  be  no  windows  except  on  the 
street,  or  overlooking  my  uncle's  garden." 

"Who?  Your  uncle?"  said  the  baroness,  disdain- 
fully. 

"  M.  Marcel  Thierry,"  said  the  countess,  "  is  the  near 
relative  of  my  neighbor,  the  rich  M.  Antoine  Thierry, 
whom  you  must  certainly  have  heard  spoken  of." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  an  old  merchant." 

"  Ship-owner,"  said  Marcel ;  "  he  made  his  fortune 
in  the  Colonies,  without  ever  putting  his  foot  into  a  vessel ; 
thanks  to  his  skilful  calculations,  and  to  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances, he  has  gained  several  millions  by  his  fire- 
side, as  you  may  say." 

"  Present  my  compliments  to  him,"  replied  the  baroness. 
"And  so  he  lives  in  this  street? " 

"  His  hotel  fronts  upon  the  new  street,  but  there  is  only 
a  wall  between  his  garden  and  that  of  the  Countess 
d'Estrelle ;  the  pavilion  is  in  a  corner  between  the  two 
estates.  My  uncle,  I  dare  say,  will  be  glad  to  purchase 
this  pavilion ;  it  will  always  be  useful  to  him,  whether  he 
tears  it  down  to  make  room  for  his  garden,  or  turns  it 
into  a  greenhouse  or  gardener's  lodge." 

"  The  rich  M.  Thierry  then  desires  this  pavilion,"  said 
the  baroness ;  "  perhaps  he  has  already  conmiissioned 
you  —  " 

"He  has  given  me  no  commission  at  all,"  replied 
Marcel,  interrupting  her,  with  dignity;  "he  knows 
nothing  about  the  affairs  of  my  other  clients." 

"  You  are  his  lawyer,  then,  also  ?  " 

"  Naturally,  madam  ;  but  that  would  not  prevent  me 
from  asking  the  highest  possible  price,  if  the  countess 
chooses  to  sell ;  nor  wrould  he  owe  me  any  grudge  upon 
that  account.     He  understands  business  too  well  not  to 


lO  ANTONIA. 

know  the  value  of  a  piece  of  real  estate  that  he  wishes 
to  own." 

"  But  I  have  not  yet  decided  to  sell  the  pavilion,"  said 
the  countess,  starting  from  a  vague  reverie  ;  "  it  does  not 
trouble  me  in  any  way,  and  I  understand  that  it  is  occu- 
pied by  a  very  quiet  and  deserving  person." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  Marcel,  ''  but  the  rent  is  so  small 
that  it  will  add  but  little  to  your  income.  However,  if 
you  choose  to  keep  it,  it  will  be  useful  as  security  for  one 
of  your  debts." 

"  We  will  see  about  it,  M.  Thierry.  I  will  think  the 
matter  over,  and  you  will  give  me  your  advice.  How 
much  is  the  property  that  the  marquis  has  given  me 
worth?" 

"  About  thirty  thousand  francs." 

"Ought  I  to  thank  him  for  it?" 

''  If  I  were  you  I  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  cried 
the  baroness. 

"  Thank  him  by  all  means,"  said  the  lawyer,  in  a  low 
voice;  "'a  word  of  gratitude,  expressed  with  gentle- 
ness and  resignation,  can  do  no  harm,  and  it  will  cost  a 
heart  like  yours  nothing." 

The  countess  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  gave  them  to 
Marcel. 

"  Let  us  hope,"  he  said,  rising,  "  that  the  Marquis 
d'Estrelle  will  be  touched  by  your  goodness." 

"  He  is  not  a  bad  man,"  replied  Julie,  "  but  he  is  very 
old  and  very  feeble,  and  his  second  wife  governs  him 
completely." 

"  That  ex-Madam  d'Orlande  is  a  veritable  pest,"  cried 
the  baroness. 

"  You  should  not  say  anything  against  her,  madam," 
replied  Marcel ;  "  she  belongs  to  your  world,  and  holds 
opinions  which  you  accept  as  the  law  and  the  prophets." 

"  How  so,  Mr.  Lawyer?" 

"  She  detests  new  ideas,  and  regards  the  privileges  of 
rank  as  the  holy  arc  of  tradition." 

"  Do  not  insult  me  by  comparing  me  with  that  woman," 
said  the  baroness ;  "  her  ideas  may  be  correct,  but  her 


ANTONIA.  II 

conduct  is  abominable.  She  is  avaricious,  and  it  is  said 
would  even  betray  her  opinions  for  money." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  said  Marcel,  with  a  dubious  smile, 
which  Madame  d'Aucourt  considered  an  expression  of 
homage,  ''  I  can  understand  that  you,  madam,  must  re- 
gard her  witli  profound  aversion." 

He  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"  That  is  quite  a  well-bred  man  !  "  said  the  baroness, 
noticing  the  dignity  and  ease  with  which  he  left  the  room. 
'*  Is  his  name  Thierry  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  that  also  of  his  wealthy  uncle,  and  of  still 
another  uncle,  who  had  a  far  more  desirable  reputation : 
Thierry,  the  flower-painter." 

"Ah  !  The  painter?  I  came  very  near  knowing  that 
worthy  Thierry  myself.  My  husband  received  him  in  the 
morning." 

"  He  was  received  by  every  one  at  all  hours,  my  dear 
child,  —  at  least  by  all  persons  of  taste  and  mind  ;  for  he 
was  a  charming  old  man,  perfectly  well-bred,  and  re- 
markably agreeable." 

"It  seems,  then,  that  the  Baron  d'Ancourt  is  not  a 
person  of  mind  and  taste,  for  he  would  not  invite  him  —  " 

"  I  did  not  say  that  the  baron  —  " 

"  Oh,  say  so,  say  so,  if  you  choose ;  it  is  the  same 
thing  to  me  ;  I  have  known  him  longer  than  you.'* 

The  baroness  had  a  sovereign  disdain  for  the  intellect 
of  her  husband,  but  she  pardoned  his  stupidity  in  con- 
sideration of  his  rank ;  and,  with  this  two-edged  reply, 
she  burst  into  a  fresh,  joyous  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Let  us  return  to  our  conversation  about  these  Thier- 
rys,"  she  said.     "  Were  you  acquainted  with  the  artist?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  have  that  pleasure.  You  know  that 
the  Count  d'Estrelle  was  taken  ill  soon  after  our  mar- 
riage, and  I  accompanied  him  to  the  baths ;  he  sank 
into  a  rapid  decline,  and  the  end  of  the  matter  was  that 
I  did  not  see  any  one."  » 

"  No  wonder  that  you  know  nothing  about  the  world, 
since  you  have  never  caught  even  a  glimpse  of  it.  Poor 
little  thing !  After  sacrificing  yourself  to  make  a  bril- 
liant marriage,  what  a  life  you  have  led !     Nursing  a 


*2  ANTON  I  A. 

dying  man,  wearing  mourning,  and  the  bother  of  busi* 
nuss.  We  must  put  a  stop  to  this  sort  of  thing,  dear 
Julie  ;  you  must  marry  again  !  " 

"  Ah,  Heaven  forbid  !  "  cried  the  countess. 

"  You  don't  propose  to  live  alone,  and  bury  yourself 
alive,  at  your  age  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  propose  to  do,  for  I  really 
do  not  know.  My  life  has  been  so  different  from  that  of 
most  young  women,  to  whom  marriage  brings  wealth  and 
liberty,  that  I  do  not  know  my  own  tastes.  I  know,  how- 
ever, that  I  was  miserable  during  the  two  years  of  my 
married  life,  and  that  I  should  be  happier  in  my  present 
position  than  ever  before,  were  it  not  for  these  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  which  annoy  me  exceedingly,  although 
I  try  to  endure  them  without  bitterness.  My  mind  is  not 
brilliant,  and  my  character,  perhaps,  lacks  the  necessary 
elasticity  to  enable  me  to  rebound  from  misfortune. 
Obliged  to  occupy  myself  to  pass  away  the  time,  I  have 
acquired  a  taste  for  serious  amusements.  I  read  a  great 
deal,  draw  a  little,  study  music,  and  write  letters  to  my 
old  convent  friends.  I  am  acquainted  with  a  few  quiet, 
but  excellent  people,  who  are  my  only  visitors,  and  my  life 
is  calm  and  well  regulated.  I  am  not  unhappy,  and  do  not 
suffer  from  ennui,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal  for  a 
person  who  at  one  time  was  always  weeping  or  yawning. 
Do  not,  therefore,  my  dear  friend,  seek  to  disturb  the 
placid  monotony  of  my  existence.  Come  and  see  me 
when  you  can,  without  interfering  with  your  pleasures ; 
but  do  not  feel  anxious  about  me,  for  I  am  really  very 
comfortable." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  for  the  moment,  my  dear.  You 
show  yourself  to  be  a  woman  of  character,  by  meeting  bad 
fortune  courageously.  But  there  is  a  time  for  everything ; 
you  must  not  forget  the  advantages  that  youth  and  beauty 
procure,  and  allow  them  to  escape  you.  Your  family,  — - 
you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  so,  —  was  not  very  good; 
but  you  derived  a  distinguished  name,  at  least,  from  your 
melancholy  marriage,  and  a  title  that  elevates  you  in  the 
consideration  of  the  world.  You  are  a  widow,  and  there- 
fore  independent ;  you  have  no  children,  and  therefore 


ANTONIA.  II 

retain  all  the  charm  of  your  youth.  You  have  no  fortune 
of  your  own ;  but,  as  your  dowry  is  incumbered  with 
debts,  you  can  very  well  afford  to  renounce  it  and  seek  a 
better  match  than  your  first  one.  Trust  yourself  to  mc, 
and  I  will  find  you  a  suitable  husband  ;  I  will  agree  to 
arrange  the  sort  of  marriage  that  you  have  a  perfect  right 
to  look  forward  to." 

"  The  sort  of  marriage  !  What  do  you  mean?  I  do 
not  understand  you." 

"  I  mean  that  you  are  too  charming  not  to  be  married 
for  love." 

"All  very  well;  but  I — ,  shall  I  be  able  to  love  the 
person  to  whom  you  refer  ?  " 

"  Why  not ;  if  he  is  really  a  man  of  wealth,  and, 
above  all,  of  good  family  —  it  would  be  unpardonable  in 
you  to  marry  below  your  present  rank  —  instead  of  being 
a  spendthrift  and  a  fool  ?  I  will  take  care  to  select  such 
a  person,  and,  moreover  a  man  of  honor,  with  experience, 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  cultivated  tastes  ;  what  can 
you  ask  more?  You  will  not  require,  I  presume,  a 
youthful  Adonis,  —  a  hero  of  romance  !  Such  brilliant 
personages  are  not  often  to  be  met  with ;  and,  when  we 
do  see  them,  they  are  the  last  ones,  as  a  usual  thing, 
inclined  to  select  a  bride  for  her  beautiful  eyes.  Every 
one,  in  this  age,  is  more  or  less  embarrassed." 

"  I  understand  you,"  replied  Madam  d'Estrelle,  with 
a  sad  smile  ;  "  you  would  like  me  to  marry  some  worthy 
old  gentleman  whom  you  know  and  esteem,  —  for  I  don't 
suppose  you  would  ask  me  to  accept  a  monster.  Thanks, 
my  dear  baroness,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  hire  myself  out 
again  to  a  sick  man  for  large  fees,  and,  in  plain  terms, 
this  is  what  you  want  me  to  do.  If  my  father  were  alive, 
I  would  devote  myself  to  him  joyfully ;  I  would  tend  and 
nurse  an  aged  friend  without  repining,  but  never  again 
will  I  submit  to  be  the  slave  of  an  infirm  and  morose 
tyrant.  I  fulfilled  my  sad  duties  to  M.  d'Estrelle  con- 
scientiously, and  every  one  gave  me  credit  for  my  conduct, 
but  I  shall  not  resign  my  present  freedom.  Although  my 
parents  are  no  longer  living,  I  have  a  few  friends,  and  am 
contented  in  their  society.     I  ask  nothing  more,  and  I  beg 


H 


ANTONIA. 


you,  most  earnestly,  not  to  try  and  make  me  happy  fto 
cording  to  an  idea  of  happiness  which  I  do  not  share. 
You  are  still,  my  friend,  what  I  was  at  sixteen  years  old, 
when  I  married.  Retaining  the  illusions  that  had  been 
instilled  into  me,  —  imagining  that  people  cannot  live  with- 
out wealth  and  display,  —  you  are  younger  than  I,  So 
much  the  better  for  you,  since  you  have  married  a  man 
who  allows  you  to  gratify  all  your  tastes.  You  ask  noth- 
ing more  —  is  it  not  so  ?  For  my  part  I  am  more  exact- 
ing. I  desire  to  love.  You  laugh  !  Oh  yes  !  I  know 
your  theories  !  '  The  honey-moon  is  short ' ;  you  have 
told  me  so  a  hundred  times  ;  '  the  golden  moon  is  the  only 
one  that  never  fades.*  Very  well ;  if  this  is  so,  I  am  so 
foolish  as  to  say  that  I  still  wish  to  love  and  to  believe  ; — 
if  only  for  a  single  day,  the  first  day  of  my  marriage ! 
Without  this,  I  know  by  experience  that  marriage  is  a 
shame  and  a  martyrdom." 

"•If  you  feel  so,"  said  the  baroness,  rising,  "  I  will 
leave  you,  my  sweet  creature,  to  your  reveries,  and  hum- 
bly beg  your  pardon  for  having  interrupted  them." 

She  went  away  very  much  wounded ;  for,  although 
frivolous,  she  was  not  without  penetration  ;  and  she  felt 
that  the  gentle  Julie,  in  this  flash  of  rebellion,  had  spoken 
the  truth.  However,  she  was  not  vindictive,  and  after 
an  hour  had  forgotten  her  anger.  She  even  felt  a  little 
sad  ;  and  at  moments  was  ready  to  say,  — 

*'  Julie  is  right,  perhaps." 

As  for  Julie,  her  courage  abandoned  her  as  soon  as  she 
was  left  alone  ;  her  pride  melted  into  tears.  She  was  only 
strong  in  moments  of  nervous  excitement,  under  the  stim- 
ulus, perhaps,  of  a  more  intense  longing  for  affection  than 
she  acknowledged  to  herself.  She  was  naturally  gentle, 
and  even  timorous.  She  knew  that  the  baroness  had  a 
good  heart,  and  did  not  fear  a  rupture  with  her ;  but  she 
said  in  her  turn,  — 

"  Amelie  is  right,  perhaps  !  I  am  asking  an  impossi- 
bility ;  the  advantages  of  wealth  and  rank,  and  love  as 
well !  Who  obtains  them  all  ?  No  one  in  my  position  ! 
While  longing  for  the  highest  happiness,  I  shall,  perhaps, 


ANTONIA. 


15 


lose  everything  ;  —  condemn  myself  to  the  worst  fate  of 
all,  —  isolation  and  melancholy." 

She  took  her  parasol,  —  one  of  those  old-fashioned, 
white,  flat  parasols,  that  produced  a  much  prettier  effect 
in  green  groves  than  our  modern  mushrooms,  —  and 
wandered  pensively  into  her  garden.  The  heels  of  her 
little  slippers  patted  the  green  turf,  her  dress  was  tucked 
up  gracefully  over  her  straight  under-skirt ;  she  wandered 
amid  the  lilacs,  breathing  the  spring  air  with  a  silent 
agony,  trembling  at  the  voice  of  the  nightingale,  think- 
ing of  no  one,  and  yet  carried  beyond  herself  by  an  im- 
mense yearning. 

From  lilac-bed  to  lilac-bed  she  walked  slowly  on,  until 
she  approached  the  pavilion,  where  Julien  Thierry,  the 
son  of  the  painter,  the  nephew  of  the  rich  man,  and  the 
cousin  of  the  lawyer,  whoiSTthe  rcadot^-^droady  knows, 
hacTbeeir^at  work  »»-hour  before.  Madam  d'Estrelle's 
garden  was  unusually  large  and  beautiful  for  a  garden  in 
Paris ;  the  vegetation  was  rich,  and  it  was  laid  out  with 
great  taste.  Every  day  she  walked  through  it  several 
times,  lingering  amid  the  groves,  and  gazing  sadly  but 
tenderly  upon  the  flowers  with  which  the  turf  was  sown. 
She  did  not  turn  aside  on  approaching  the  Louis  XIII. 
pavilion,  or  feel  any  anxiety  about  being  observed,  —  for 
this  pavilion  had  been  unoccupied  for  a  long  time.  Julien 
and  his  mother  had  been  living  there  only  for  a  month. 
Madame  d'Estrelle  had  complained  to  Marcel  Thierry 
that  her  father-in-law,  rather  than  lose  the  rent  of  such  a 
small  building,  had  let  it  to  strange  tenants.  Marcel  in- 
formed lier  that  the  new  occupant  was  the  widow  of  his 
uncle,  the  artist,  —  a  most  worthy  and  respectable  woman, 
—  and  she  had  been  completely  reassured  by  this  intelli- 
gence. He  did  not  mention  Julien.  The  countess  did 
not  know,  perhaps,  that  the  painter  had  had  a  son.  At 
all  events,  she  had  not  thought  of  inquiring  about  him. 
She  liad  never  seen  him  at  the  windows,  for  two  reasons : 
in  the  first  place  she  was  near-sighted,  and  the  young 
women  of  that  period  did  not  use  eye-glasses  ;  in  the  sec- 
ond place,  Julien,  knowing  that  he  was  in  the  neighbor- 
bood  of  a  person  of  austere  manners,  had  taken  great 


l6  ANTONIA. 

pains  to  keep  out  of  sight.  At  the  windows  of  the  upper 
ptory  Madam  d'Estrelle  had  sometimes  noticed  a  hidy 
with  a  noble  and  delicate  face,  framed  in  a  white  cap,  who 
had  bowed  to  her  with  polite  reserve.  She  had  returned 
the  salutation  of  the  peaceful  widow  frankly  and  respect- 
fully, but  they  had  never  exchanged  a  word. 

To-day  the  windows  on  the  ground-floor  were  half- 
open,  and  Julie,  seeing  this,  asked  herself,  for  the  first 
time,  why  she  had  never  entered  into  friendly  relations 
with  Madam  Thierry.  She  looked  at  the  front  of  the 
little  building,  and  saw  that  the  door  opening  into  the 
bottom  of  her  garden  was  locked  without,  as  it  had  been 
before  ihc  pavilion  was  occupied.  Madam  ThieiTy  had 
bat  a  poor  prospect ;  the  hotel,  and  greater  part  of  the 
lawn,  were  in  a  great  measure  concealed  by  the  grove  in 
front  of  the  pavillion.  She  had  not  even  the  right  to  seat 
herself  in  the  sun,  by  the  wall  of  her  own  house,  at  the 
foot  of  the  flowering  shrubs  that  grew  there,  or  to  pluck 
the  flowers  that  thrust  themselves  into  her  very  apartment. 
She  was  forbidden,  in  the  strongest  terms,  by  the  condi- 
tions of  her  lease,  from  taking  a  step  in  the  garden.  In 
brief,  the  door  was  fastened,  and  the  tenant  had  never 
petitioned  to  have  it  opened. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  countess  had  expected  some  such 
request,  and  had  intended  to  comply  with  it ;  but  she  did 
not  reflect  that  a  feeling  of  timidity  or  pride  might  pre- 
vent Madam  Thierry  from  applying  to  her.  She  thought 
of  this  to-day,  —  on  this  day  of  self-examination,  —  and 
reproached  herself  for  not  anticipating  the  natural  desire 
of  the  poor  widow. 

"  If  some  great  lady  in  distress  had  been  in  her  place," 
she  thought,  "  I  should  not  have  forgotten  the  considera- 
tion due  to  age  and  misfortune.  This  is  another  proof 
of  what  I  have  so  often  told  the  baroness  ;  our  minds  are 
perverted,  and  our  hearts  hardened  by  the  aristocratic 
prejudices  in  which  we  are  educated.  I  have  been  selfish 
and  impolite  in  my  conduct  to  this  lady,  who  is  said  to  be 
infinitely  respectable,  and  who  is  very  poor.  How  could 
I  have  been  so  forgetful  ?     Now,  however,  I  have  an  op- 


ANT  ON  I  A.  17 

portunity  of  repairing  my  neglect,  and  I  will  not  lose  it, 
for  I  need,  to-day,  to  be  reconciled  to  myself." 

The  countess  approached  the  window  resolutely,  and 
coughed  two  or  three  times,  to  give  intimation  of  her 
presence.  No  one  moved,  and  she  ventured  to  tap  upon 
the  ground-glass  window-pane. 

Julien  had  gone  out,  but  Madam  Thierry  was  still  in 
the  studio.  Surprised,  she  came  forward  ;  and,  when  she 
saw  this  beautiful  lady,  whom  she  knew  very  well  by 
sight,  but  to  whom  she  had  never  yet  spoken,  she  threw 
the  window  wide  open. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  said  the  countess,  "  for  intro- 
ducing myself  to  you  in  such  an  informal  way ;  I  am 
still  in  half-mourning,  as  you  see ;  I  am  not  yet  making 
visits,  and,  with  your  permission,  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you.  Can  you,  without  ceremony,  grant  me  a 
moment's  interview  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  madam,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure," replied  Madam  Thierry,  with  cheerful  dignity  and 
ease  ;  not  at  all  in  the  manner  of  a  petty  bourgeoise,  daz- 
zled by  the  advances  of  a  great  lady. 

The  countess  was  struck  by  the  refinement  of  her  face, 
the  good  taste  of  her  dress,  her  sweet  voice,  and  the  sort 
of  perfume  of  elegance  that  seemed  to  exhale  from  her 
whole  person. 

'^  You  must  sit  down,"  she  said ;  "  I  do  not  want  to 
keep  you  standing." 

''  But  you,  madam  ?  "  said  the  widow,  smiling.  "  Ah  ! 
An  idea  occurs  to  me.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will 
hand  you  a  chair." 

"■  Oh,  no,  do  not  take  so  much  trouble." 

"  It  is  no  trouble  at  all !  Here  is  a  light  cane-chair, 
and,  both  of  us  together  —  " 

Both  together,  indeed,  they  passed  the  cane-chair  over 
the  window-sill,  the  one  lifting  it,  the  other  receiving  it, 
and  both  smiling  at  this  familiar  operation,  which  seemed 
to  place  them  at  once  upon  a  footing  of  intimacy. 

''  This  is  what  I  wanted  to  say,"  said  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
sitting  down  ;  "  hitherto,  you  have  been  living  in  a  house 
belonging  to  the  Marquis  d'Estrelle,  my  father-in-law ; 
a 


l8  ANTONIA. 

but,  from  to-day,  you  are  living  in  my  house.  I  do  not 
yet  know  the  conditions  of  your  lease,  but  there  is  one 
of  them,  I  presume,  that  you  will  be  willing  to  modify." 

"Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  which  one,  madam  ?  '* 
replied  the  widow,  leaning  slightly  forward,  while  the  fear 
of  some  annoyance  cast  a  shadow  over  her  face. 

"  It  is  this  abominable  door  that  offends  me,"  replied 
the  countess ;  "  this  locked,  worm-eaten  door  that  sepa- 
rates us.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  have  it  opened  to- 
morrow, and  I  sincerely  trust  that  you  will  walk  as  much 
as  you  choose  in  my  garden,  whether  for  exercise  or 
amusement.  It  will  always  give  me  pleasure  to  meet 
you  there,  and  if  you  will  sometimes  stop  and  rest  in  my 
house,  where  you  will  find  that  I  live  very  much  alone,  I 
will  do  what  I  can  to  make  you  like  the  neighborhood.'' 

Madam  Thierry's  countenance  had  brightened.  The 
offer  of  the  countess  gave  her  sincere  pleasure.  To  see 
a  beautiful  garden  at  all  hours,  and  be  unable  to  enter  it, 
is  a  sort  of  martyrdom.  Besides,  she  was  deeply  touched 
by  the  grace  of  Madam  d'Estrelle's  invitation,  and  felt  at 
once  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of  a  thoroughly  kind- 
liearted  and  amiable  woman.  Without  losing  the  sweet 
dignity  of  her  manner,  she  thanked  her  with  grateful  cor- 
diality, and  they  began  immediately  to  converse  upon 
other  subjects  like  old  friends,  so  sudden  and  strong  was 
their  mutual  sympathy. 

''  You  live  alone,  I  understand !  "  said  Madam  Thierry  ; 
*' it  must  be  a  temporary  arrangement; — you  cannot 
like  solitude." 

'•  Not  altogether ;  but  I  am  afraid  of  the  woWd,  and 
have  no  confidence  in  myself.  And  you,  madam,  do  you 
enjoy  society?  " 

"  I  do  not  dislike  it,"  said  the  widow.  "  I  forsook  the 
world  for  love,  and  forgot  it ;  afterwards  it  sought  me 
out,  and  I  reentered  it  without  effort  and  without  intox- 
ication. Finally,  I  abandoned  it  again,  out  of  necessity 
and  without  regret.  All  this  seems  a  little  obscure  to 
you." 

"  I  know  that  M.  Thierry  was  very  well  off,  that  his 
standing  was  excellent,  that  he  was  courted  in   society. 


ANTONIA. 


19 


and  received  the  most  cultivated  and  best  people  at  his 
house." 

*'  But  you  do  not  know  about  our  previous  life  ;  it  was 
a  good  deal  talked  about  at  the  time  ;  but  that  was  long 
ago,  and  you  are  so  young." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  countess.  "  I  ask  your 
pardon  for  my  forgetfulness.  I  remember,  now ;  you 
were  well-born  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil,  of  a  good  family 
in  Lorraine.  I  should  have  been  rich  also,  if  my  mar- 
riage had  not  displeased  my  guardians.  M.  Thierry,  who 
was  then  a  poor  artist  without  name  or  position,  had  won 
my  heart,  and  I  abandoned  my  family,  parted  from  all 
my  friends,  abjured  my  rank,  to  become  his  wife.  Grad- 
ually he  became  celebrated,  and,  after  he  had  made  a  for- 
tune of  his  own,  I  received  my  inheritance.  We  were 
well  rewarded,  therefore,  for  our  constancy,  not  only  by 
thirty  years  of  love  and  happiness,  but  also  by  the  pros- 
perity of  our  old  age." 

"  And  yet,  now  —  " 

'*  Oh,  now  it  is  different !  I  am  still  happy,  but  in  a 
different  way.  I  have  lost  my  well-beloved  companion, 
and  with  him  all  that  we  possessed ;  but  such  great  con- 
solations remain  to  me." 

Madam  Thierry  was  about  to  speak  of  her  son,  when 
a  valet  in  livery  appeared,  and  informed  the  countess  that 
her  friend  Madam  des  Morges  was  at  her  house. 

"  I  will  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Julie  to  Madam 
Thierry,  as  she  rose  ;  "  we  will  talk  together  at  our  ease, 
either  at  your  house  or  mine.  I  am  eager  to  know  all 
that  concerns  you,  for  I  feel  that  I  love  you.  Pardon 
me  for  saying  this  so  abruptly,  but  it  is  the  truth  !  My 
visitor  is  an  old  lady,  and  I  cannot  keep  her  waiting,  but 
I  shall  order  the  workman  to  be  sent  to  you  to-morrow 
without  fail,  so  that  your  prison  may  be  opened." 

Madam  Thierry  was  enchanted  with  Madam  d'Estrelle. 
Living,  as  she  had  done,  in  an  atmosphere  of  enthusiasm, 
with  the  man  she  loved,  and  that  man  an  artist,  she  had 
retained  her  life  and  spontaneity,  and  she  was  very  ro- 
mantic, as  beseemed  a  woman  who  had  sacrificed  ambi- 


20  ANTONIA. 

tion  to  love.  Her  first  impulse  would  have  led  her  to 
relate  what  had  occurred  to  her  son,  with  enthusiasm ; 
but  he  was  out,  and  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  make  the 
most  of  the  surprise  that  she  had  just  enjoyed.  Madam 
Thierry  had  given  up  all  her  luxuries  when  they  lost 
their  fortune,  and  Julien  was  often  alarmed  at  the  actual 
privations  that  she  was  compelled  to  endure. 

At  Sevres,  they  had  had  a  pretty  little  house,  sur- 
rounded by  a  beautiful  garden,  where  she  had  cultivated 
with  her  own  hands  the  flowers  that  her  husband  and 
son  used  as  models.  They  had  been  obliged  to  sell 
everything.  JuUen's  heart  was  heavy  when  he  saw  the 
poor  old  lady  shut  up  in  Paris,  in  a  small  pavilion,  for 
which  they  paid  the  most  moderate  rent.  He  had  hoped 
at  first  that  she  would  be  able  to  enjoy  the  surrounding 
gardens,  especially  as  the  street  was  obstructed  with  ma- 
sonry and  the  materials  for  new  buildings  ;  but  the  lease 
informed  him  that  neither  the  Marquis  d'Estrelle,  their 
landlord,  nor  the  rich  Thierry,  their  near  neighbor  and 
near  relative,  would  allow  them  to  enter  their  grounds. 

"  He  has  complained  bitterly  about  this  closed  door," 
said  Madam  Thierry  to  herself,  as  she  thought  of  her  son  ; 
*'  a  dozen  times  he  has  been  eager  to  go  and  beg  the 
countess  to  have  it  opened  for  ray  benefit,  promising  that 
he  himself  would  never  cross  the  door  of  the  pavilion.  I 
would  not  allow  him  to  do  so,  fearing  that  we  might  be 
martified  by  a  refusal.  How  glad  he  will  be  to  know 
that  she  has  invited  me  of  her  own  accord  !  How  shall  I 
arrange  matters  so  as  to  surprise  him  most  agreeably  ?  I 
must  give  him  a  commission  to-morrow  morning,  that 
will  keep  him  away  while  the  workmen  are  busy." 

She  formed  her  plans,  and  just  then  Julien  returned  to 
dinner.  The  cane-chair  was  still  without,  leaning  against 
the  window-sill,  and  on  the  ground  by  this  chair  lay 
Madam  d'Estrelle's  white  parasol ;  she  had  let  it  fall,  and 
had  forgotten  it.  Madam  Thierry  had  gone  into  the 
kitchen  to  tell  her  servant,  a  great  Normandy  peasant- 
girl,  to  bring  in  the  chair.  She  had  not  noticed  the  par- 
asol. Julien,  therefore,  saw  these  two  objects  without 
knowing  what  had  occurred.     He  guessed  the  truth  in- 


ANTONIA,  21 

etantly ;  a  sudden  giddiness,  a  violent  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  seized  him,  and  his  mother  found  him  so  overcome, 
80  agitated,  so  bewildered,  that  she  was  alarmed,  think- 
ing that  some  misfortune  had  occurred. 

'^  What  is  the  matter?"  she  cried,  running  up  to  him. 

"  Nothing,  mother,"  replied  JuUen,  struggling  to  over- 
come his  emotion.  "  I  came  in  quickly,  I  was  very 
warm,  and  the  cool  air  of  the  studio  gave  me  a  chill,  — 
I  am  hungry.  Come,  let  us  go  to  dinner.  You  can 
explain  at  table  the  meaning  of  the  visit  you  have  just 
received. 

He  lifted  in  the  chair,  folded  and  unfolded  the  parasol, 
and  held  it  a  long  time  in  his  hand  ;  he  tried  to  seem  in- 
different, but  his  hands  trembled,  and  he  could  not  meet 
his  mother's  eye. 

''  Mon  DieuT*  she  said  to  herself,  "  can  it  be  that  his 
strange  sadness  for  the  last  fifteen  days,  his  unwillingness 
to  sing,  his  stifled  sighs,  his  abstracted  manner,  his  sleep- 
lessness and  loss  of  appetite,  are  because  ?  —  but  he  does 
not  even  know  her,  he  has  scarcely  seen  her  even  from  a 
distance.  —  Ah  !  my  poor  child,  can  it  be  possible?" 

They  went  to  dinner.  Julien  questioned  his  mother 
without  embarrassment.  She  told  him  about  the  visit  of 
the  countess  with  a  good  deal  of  reserve,  repressing  the 
enthusiasm  which,  but  for  the  discovery  that  she  had 
just  made,  or  the  danger  that  she  began  to  apprehend, 
would  have  made  her  eloquent  upon  the  subject. 

Julien  felt  that  his  mother  was  observing  him,  and 
was  very  guarded.  He  had  never  had  a  secret  from  her 
before  ;  within  the  last  few  days  he  had  had  one,  and  the 
fear  of  alarming  her  taught  him  to  dissimulate. 

''  Madam  d'Estrelle's  conduct,"  he  said,  ''  proves  that 
she  is  a  kind  and  sensible  person.  She  feels  —  rather 
late,  perhaps  —  the  respect  that  she  owes  you.  We  ought 
to  be  grate  lul  to  her  for  her  good  heart.  You  told  her,  I 
presume,  that  I  have  too  much  knowledge  of  the  world  to 
consider  myself  included  in  the  permission  granted  you." 

*'  That  is  understood,  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  did  not 
even  speak  of  you."  ^ 

"  So  much  the  better  !     She  does  not  know,  probably, 


22  ANTONTA, 

that  there  is  such  a  person  ;  and,  in  order  that  she  may 
not  repent  of  her  kindness,  it  will  be  as  well,  perhaps,  if 
you  never  speak  to  her  of  your  son." 

"  Why  should  I  hesitate  to  speak  of  him?  I  will  do  so 
or  not,  as  it  may  happen  ;  —  according  to  the  chances  of 
conversation." 

"  You  expect  to  see  her  frequently,  then?  to  go  to  her 
house,  perhaps?" 

"  There  is  no  sort  of  doubt  that  I  shall  meet  her  in  the 
garden ;  whether  I  go  to  her  house  or  not,  will  depend 
upon  how  long  she  continues  to  welcome  me  as  she  did 
to-day.'* 

"  Was  she  amiable?" 

"  Very  amiable  and  very  natural." 

*'  Is  she  a  person  of  mind  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  she  seemed  sensible." 

••'  Any  of  the  affectations  of  a  great  lady?" 

"  I  did  not  see  any." 

''  Is  she  young?" 

"  Why  certainly." 

'^  And  pretty,  they  say  ?  " 

*'  Ah,  indeed  !     Have  you  never  seen  her?" 

"  Only  from  a  distance.  These  windows  are  always 
closed,  and  I  have  never  happened  to  be  in  your  room 
when  she  was  passing  our  house." 

"  You  know,  however,  that  she  passes  here  every  day." 

*' You  have  just  told  me  so.  You  must  think  me  very 
curious  about  beautiful  ladies  and  their  walks.  I  am 
no  longer  a  school-boy,  my  dear  mother,  I  am  a  man ; 
my  mind  has  been  matured  by  misfortunes." 

"  Has  Marcel  told  you  of  any  new  misfortune?" 

"On  the  contrary,  uncle  Antoine  has  agreed  to  be  our 
security." 

"  Ah,  at  last !  —  And  you  did  not  tell  me  !  " 

"  You  were  talking  of  something  else." 

'^  That  interests  you  more." 

"  Yes,  for  the  moment,  I  confess  it  freely.  I  am 
really  glad  to  think  that  you  will  be  able  to  walk,  when 
you  choose,  in  this  garden.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  accom- 
pany you  and  give  you  the  support  of  my  arm,  since  — 


ANTONIA.  23 

naturally  —  since  I  ana  not  allowed  to  enter  it ;  but  I  shall 
see  you  taking  your  walks,  and  you  will  return  with  a 
little  color  and  a  better  appetite,  I  hope." 

"  Appetite  !  It  is  you  who  have  no  appetite  !  To-day, 
again,  you  have  eaten  scarcely  anything,  and  you  said 
that  you  were  hungry.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  carry  madam's  parasol  to  the  porter  of  the  hotel 
d'Estrelle.  It  would  be  impolite  not  to  return  it  imme- 
diately." 

''  You  are  right,  but  let  Babel  take  it.  It  is  useless  for 
you  to  show  yourself  to  the  servants  of  the  hotel.  It 
might  make  some  talk." 

Madam  Thierry  took  the  parasol,  and  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  servant. 

"  Not  like  that,"  said  Julien,  taking  it  again.  "  Babel 
will  tarnish  the  silk  with  her  warm  hands." 

He  wrapped  the  parasol  up  carefully  in  white  paper, 
and  gave  it  to  Babel,  not  without  regret,  but  without 
hesitation.  He  saw  plainly  his  mother's  anxiety,  and 
tried  to  meet  her  eye  without  embarrassment. 

Babel  was  gone  ten  minutes  :  longer  than  was  necessary 
to  make  the  circuit  of  the  garden,  enter  the  court  of  the 
hotel,  and  return.  Finally  she  reappeared  with  the  para- 
sol, and  a  note  from  the  countess. 

"  Madam,  you  will  need  a  parasol,  since  you  are  gomg 
to  be  exposed  to  the  sun.  Be  so  good  as  to  use  mine  ;  I 
want  to  deprive  you  of  every  excuse  for  not  coming  to 
visit  your  servant, 

"  Julie  d'Estrelle." 

Madam  Thierry  was  still  looking  at  Julien,  who,  with 
as  much  composure  as  he  could  command,  unrolled  the 
paper  in  which  he  had  wrapped  the  parasol.  As  soon, 
however,  as  her  back  was  turned,  he  covered  it  with 
kisses,  like  a  romantic  and  passionate  child  as  he  was, 
although  he  claimed  to  be  a  mature  man.  As  for  the 
poor  mother,  doubtful  and  troubled,  she  said  to  herself, 
sadly,  that  every  pleasure  in  this  world  has  its   corres- 


24  ANTONIA. 

ponding  danger,  and  that  she  might  have  cause  to  regret 
the  amiable  advances  of  her  too  enticino;  nei"jhbor. 

The  next  day,  the  door  swun<^  upon  its  hinges,  the  keys 
were  placed  in  the  hands  of  Madam  Thierry,  and,  per- 
suaded by  Julie  n,  she  ventured  into  the  flowering  domains 
of  the  countess.  The  latter  had  promised  herself  to  do 
the  honors  of  her  primroses  and  hyacinths  in  person,  but 
she  had  received  a  visit  from  Marcel  Thierry  who  gave 
her  an  unexpected  piece  of  information,  that  changed  the 
current  of  her  ideas  and  somewhat  chilled  her  zeal. 

The  lawyer  called  to  talk  to  her  about  her  affairs. 
She  hastened  to  inform  him  that  she  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  his  aunt,  of  whom  she  spoke  in  the  kindest 
manner  possible. 

"  This  amiable  lady,"  she  said,  "  told  me  about  her 
family,  her  affection  for  her  husband,  and  her  past  hap- 
piness ;  she  was  going  to  tell  me  about  what  she  called 
her  present  happiness,  when  we  were  interrupted.  I 
imagine,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  is  very  unhappy.  Did 
you  not  tell  me  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  sell  all  that 
she  had?" 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Marcel,  "but  she  never  lost 
her  cheerfulness  and  courage.  There  is  something  in 
the  character  of  my  noble  aunt  that  every  one  cannot 
understand,  but  which  you,  countess,  can  understand 
perfectly.  I  will  relate,  briefly,  the  history  of  herself  and 
husband.  My  uncle,  the  artist,  was  a  man  with  a  noble 
heart,  genius,  and  a  brilliant  intellect,  but  he  was  care- 
less, and  excessively  imprudent.  In  his  youth  he  was 
poor  ;  day  by  day  he  earned,  at  first,  the  necessaries  of 
lii'e,  and  afterwards  its  luxuries.  Gradually  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  carried  away  by  his  natural  temerity  ;  and 
as  he  had  rather  princely  tastes,  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
tastes  of  an  artist,  —  he  soon  began  to  live  in  a  very  agree- 
able but  very  precarious  way.  He  loved  the  world,  he 
was  admired  in  society ;  he  did  not  visit  on  foot !  He 
kept  a  carriage,  he  gave  exquisite  little  dinners  in  his 
Sevres  cottage,  as  he  called  it :  a  beautiful  house  crowded 
with  objects  of  luxury,  and  works  of  art,  that  cost  a  for- 
tune ;  he  lived  so  splendidly,  in  short,  that  he  soon  in- 


ANTON  I  A.  25 

volved  himself  in  debt.  His  wife's  fortune  paid  off  past 
oblisrations,  and  allowed  him  to  continue  this  hazardous 
but  agreeable  career.  When  he  died,  he  had  again  accu- 
mulated a  fine  array  of  debts.  My  good  aunt  foresaw 
their  approaching  ruin,  but  was  unwilling  to  sadden  her 
liusband's  careless  and  frivolous  old  age  by  expressing 
the  least  anxiety  about  the  future  of  her  son.  '  My  son 
is  a  sensible  young  man/  she  said ;  '  he  is  studying  his 
art  with  enthusiasm,  and  has  as  much  talent  as  his  father. 
He  will  be  poor,  and  will  make  his  fortune.  He  will 
meet  the  trials  that  his  father  encountered  with  honor 
and  courage,  and  will  achieve  the  success  that  he  achieved  ; 
knowing  him  as  I  do,  I  cannot  fear  that  he  will  ever  re- 
proach me  for  having  trusted  in  his  good  heart.*  Her 
predictions  were  all  fulfilled.  When  his  father  died, 
Julien  Thierry  discovered  that  he  had  left  him  nothing 
excepting  debts ;  he  set  bravely  to  work  to  pay  them 
off  honorably,  and,  far  from  complaining,  assured  his 
mother  that  she  had  done  well  in  never  contradicting  the 
best  of  fathers.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  agree  with  him, 
I  confess.  The  best  of  fathers  is  he  who  sacrifices  his 
tastes  and  pleasures  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  to 
survive  him.  My  uncle,  the  painter,  was  a  great  man ; 
I  ought  rather  to  say  a  great  child.  Genius  is  a  very 
beautiful  gift ;  but  devotion  to  those  you  love  is  still  more 
noble,  and  (I  shall  have  to  say  it  in  a  whisper)  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  widow  and  son  of  my  uncle  are  much 
greater  than  he.     What  is  your  opinion,  madam  ?  " 

The  countess  had  listened  to  Marcel  very  attentively, 
but  with  a  dreamy  expression. 

"  I  agree  with  you.  Monsieur  Thierry,"  she  answered, 
'•  and  1  admire  these  people  with  all  my  heart." 

'•But  it  seems  to  me,"  replied  Marcel,  "that my  story 
has  made  you  melancholy." 

'^  Perhaps  so ;  it  has  given  me  something  to  think 
about :  I  am  very  much  struck,  do  you  know,  by 
the  example  that  is  given  by  certain  lives !  Madam 
Thierry,  for  instance,  is  like  myself,  —  a  widow,  and 
ruined ;  and  yet,  even  under  these  circumstances,  she  is 
happy,  while  I  am  far  otherwise.     She  is  proud  to  pay 


26  ANTONIA, 

the  debts  of  a  husband  whom  she  tenderly  loved  ;  —  and 
I  — •  But  I  will  not  refer  again  to  the  confession  that 
escaped  me  in  your  presence  yesterday.  There  is  only 
one  great  question  that  I  would  like  *to  ask  you.  Her 
son,  —  this  excellent  son  of  the  worthy  widow,  —  where 
is  he?" 

''  In  Paris,  madam,  where  he  is  hard  at  work ;  his 
pictures,  even  now,  are  almost  equal  to  his  father's,  and 
he  is  rapidly  freeing  himself  from  his  embarrassments. 
He  has  influential  friends  who  are  interested  in  him,  and 
who  would  assist  him  more  eiFectuaily  if  he  were  less  scru- 
pulous and  less  proud  ;  but  with  a  little  time  he  will  make 
a  fortune  in  his  turn.  He  has  reduced  his  debts  to  a  very 
trifling  sum,  and  uncle  Antoine,  —  since  he  no  longer 
runs  any  risk  in  doing  so, — has  agreed  to  become  his 
security." 

''  This  rich  uncle,  then,  is  as  timid  and  economical  as 
the  marquis,  my  father-in-law." 

"  No,  madam  ;  his  selfishness  is  very  different  from  that 
of  the  marquis,  but  it  would  take  me  too  long  to  tell  you 
about  it  now.     This  is  my  hour  for  being  at  court." 

''  Ah,  yes,  Monsieur  Thierry,  another  time.  Hasten 
to  fulfil  your  duties.  Here  are  the  deeds,  ready  signed  ; 
return  soon." 

"  As  soon  as  your  affairs  require  it,  madam  ;  rely  upon 
my  punctuality." 

"  Do  not  be  so  ceremonious.  Come  without  regard  to 
business,  whenever  you  have  time.  I  ow^e  you  a  great 
deal.  Monsieur  Thierry.  You  have  not  only  given  me  a 
clear  idea  about  my  situation,  which  it  was  very  necessary 
for  me  to  have,  —  you  have  given  me  good  advice  also, 
and  have  not  urged  me  to  pursue  a  dishonorable  course 
in  order  to  serve  my  interests.  I  feel  that  you  have  some 
esteem  for  me,  —  a  little  friendship,  perhaps,  —  and  I 
thank  you  with  all  my  heart." 

The  countess  had  a  way  of  saying  these  simple  things, 
that  made  them  irresistible.  Chaste  and  dignified  in  all 
her  actions  and  in  all  her  words,  there  w^as,  nevertheless, 
a  sort  of  agitation  and  tenderness  in  her  manner  that 
marked  a  heart  too  full,  —  a  heart  that  is  seeking  to  place 


ANTONIA. 


27 


worthily  its  overflowing  affections.  The  baroness  would 
certainly  have  considered  her  too  affectionate  and  too 
grateful  to  this  insignificant  lawyer,  only  too  highly  hon- 
ored in  being  allowed  to  serve  her.  She  would  have  told 
her  that  it  is  not  right  to  spoil  people  of  this  description, 
by  letting  thera  see  that  they  are  necessary  to  you. 
Julie,  sure  of  herself,  and  always  modest  and  humble, 
was  not  at  all  afraid  of  degrading  her  friendship  by  be- 
stowing it  upon  an  honest  and  intelligent  man.  An  insen- 
sible but  rapid  reaction  was  going  on  within  her,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  against  the  decrees  and  customs  of  the 
world  in  which  she  had  hitherto  lived. 

''  What  an  amiable  woman  ! "  Marcel  Thierry  said  to 
himself,  as  he  left  her ;  "  the  devil  take  me,  if  I  were  not 
a  lawyer,  husband  of  the  best  woman  in  the  world,  and 
father  of  a  grown  lad,  —  excellent  guarantees  for  the 
solidity  of  a  man's  character,  —  I  should  be  in  love  with 
this  countess  !  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  —  madly  in 
love  !  I  will  tell  my  wife  so  this  evening  ;  she  will  laugh 
heartily  at  the  idea." 

"  How  was  it,"  thought  Madam  d'Estrelle,  at  this  mo- 
ment, "  that  I  should  have  failed  to  ask  M.  Thierry  one 
thing,  which  it  is  important  for  me  to  know?  I  thought 
of  it,  and  then  forgot  it.  I  shall  have  to  inquire.  If  this 
young  Thierry  is  living  with  his  mother,  it  will  not  be 
proper  for  him  to  take  his  walks  in  my  garden.  After 
all,  he  may  be  a  mere  boy.  Did  Thierry  say  that  he 
was  a  young  man  ?  His  father  was  very  old  !  Did  he 
say  that  he  was  so  old?  I  really  cannot  remember. 
Well,  my  people  will  know.     Servants  know  everything." 

She  rang. 

"  Camille,"  she  said  to  her  femme  de  chamhre,  "  has 
Madam  Thierry,  —  the  lady  who  lives  in  the  old  pavilion 
at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  and  a  very  worthy  person,  — 
has  she  any  children  ?  I  was  talking  to  her  yesterday, 
but  I  forgot  to  ask  her." 

"  She  has  one  son,"  replied  Camille. 

"How  old,  about?" 

**  He  looks  about  twenty-five." 

**  He  is  married,  I  suppose?  " 


28  ANTONIA, 

"  No,  madam." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

''  In  the  pavilion,  with  his  mother.** 

"  Is  he  well-behaved  ?     What  is  said  of  him  ?  *' 

"  He  is  very  well-behaved,  madam.  Every  one  speaka 
well  of  these  people.  They  are  very  poor,  but  they  pay 
all  their  debts,  and  pay  promptly.  Moreover,  they  are 
not  suspicious  or  mean.  One  would  really  think  that 
they  were  well-born." 

Camille  was  not  seeking  to  flatter  her  mistress  by 
speaking  thus.  She,  also,  had  pretensions  to  good  birth, 
and  a  reverse  of  fortune.  She  claimed  to  have  had 
aldermen  among  her  ancestors. 

'-'' Mon  Dieul  Camille,  birth  is  nothing,"  said  the 
countess,  who  was  often  made  impatient  by  the  airs  of 
her  chambermaid. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  replied  Camille,  offended,  "  I 
thought  it  was  everything.** 

"Just  as  you  please,  my  dear.  Go  and  bring  me  my 
gray  parasol.  People  nowadays,  —  one  and  all  of  them, 
—  have  so  many  affectations,"  thought  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
"  that  they  Avill  disgust  me  with  all  prejudices,  and  make 
me  admire  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  more  than  is  rea- 
sonable. Really  I  have  already  begun  to  ask  myself 
whether  we  aristocrats  do  not  belong  to  the  past,  and 
whether  our  threadbare  pretensions  are  not  beginning  to 
))e  good  for  nothing,  except  to  amuse  our  valets.'* 

She  took  her  gray  parasol  with  a  feeling  of  vague  an- 
noyance, and  sat  down  in  her  drawing-room,  open  to  the 
April  sun  ;  she  must  no  longer  walk,  she  said  to  herself, 
in  the  direction  of  the  pavilion,  and  perhaps  ought  to 
give  up  entirely  going  into  her  garden. 

Just  at  this  moment  who  should  appear  but  Madam 
Thierry.  Not  meeting  the  countess,  as  she  expected,  she 
had  ventured  to  come  to  her  house,  in  order  to  express 
her  gratitude.  Madame  d'Estrelle  received  her  with 
great  politeness  ;  but  the  widow  was  too  penetrating  not 
to  feel  a  certain  coldness  in  her  manner,  and  she  was 
scarcely  seated  when  she  thanked  her,  and  arose  to  go. 

"  Must  you  go  so  soon?  '*  said  the  countess  ;  "  you  find 


ANTONIA.  29 

me  dull,  I  am  sure,  and  I  acknowledge  that  I  feel  a  Uttlo 
embarrassed  with  you  to-day.  There  is  something  weigh- 
ing upon  my  mind  that  troubles  me.  Come,  I  will  tell 
you  at  once  what  it  is,  and  let  us  have  done  with  it  for- 
ever :  you  will  pardon  me.  When  I  spoke  to  ycu 
yesterday  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  a  son,  —  a 
very  excellent  young  man,  I  am  told,  —  living  with 
you  —  " 

"  Let  me  say  the  rest,  countess,  you  are  afraid  —  " 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  1  I  am  afraid  people  will  talk,  that  is 
all.  I  am  young,  alone  in  the  world,  bearing  the  name 
of  a  family  who  received  me  with  regret,  —  I  learned  it 
only  too  late,  —  and  who  blame  me  for  being  unwilling 
to  pass  my  widowhood  in  a  convent." 

"  I  know  it,  madam  ;  my  nephew.  Marcel,  has  told  me 
your  history.  I  am  as  anxious  to  guard  your  reputation 
as  you  can  be,  and  I  will  not  allow  your  goodness  to  lead 
you  too  far.  You  must  not  come  to  the  pavilion  again 
while  I  am  living  there,  and  I  must  give  up  walking  in 
your  garden,  and  visiting  you.  This  is  all  that  I  need 
eay.  It  is  not  necessary  to  add  that  my  son  never 
dreamed,  for  a  single  moment,  of  considering  himself 
included  in  the  permission  you  so  graciously  granted  me 
yesterday." 

"  Then  it  is  all  right,"  cried  the  countess  ;  "  the  latter 
point  is  all  that  is  necessary.  I  thank  you  for  your  deli- 
cacy in  excusing  me  from  returning  your  visits,  but  I 
shall  agree  to  nothing  more.  You  must  walk  in  my  gar- 
den, as  we  arranged,  and  you  must  visit  me." 

''I  should  be  wiser,  perhaps,  to  refuse  your  kindness." 

''  No,  no,"  replied  Julie,  gayly  ;  "  you  must  come,  —  1 
msist  upon  it!  If  you  refuse,  I  shall  have  to  go  in 
search  of  you,  and  tap  at  your  window  again,  and  that 
will  be  very  compromising.  Now  we  will  see,"  she 
added,  laughing,  "  whether  you  want  me  to  be  slandered 
for  your  sake.  I  warn  you  that  I  am  capable  of  any- 
tJiing." 

Madam  Thierry  could  not  resist  the  charm  of  her  gen- 
erous simplicity.  She  yielded,  but  not  without  prom- 
ising herself,  secretly,  that  she  would  fly  to  the  othei  end 


30  ANT  ON  I  A. 

of  Paris,  if  Julien's  passion  proved  to  be  anything  more 
than  a  dream  of  her  maternal  imagination. 

"  Now,"  said  the  countess,  "  let  us  regulate  at  once 
the  conditions  upon  which  we  are  to  be  neighbors,  so  as 
to  do  away  with  all  fear  of  scandal.  The  pavilion  has 
only  four  windows  overlooking  my  garden.  Two  below, 
—  I  do  not  know  the  premises  —  " 

"  The  two  windows  on  the  ground-floor  are  in  my 
son's  studio  and  my  drawing-room.  We  are  always 
there  ;  but  there  is  a  frame  in  the  lower  sash  of  the  win- 
dows containing  four  panes  of  ground-glass,  and  we  only 
admit  the  air  through  the  upper  panes,  which  are  often 
open  at  this  season." 

"Then  you  cannot  see  into  my  grounds,  after  all! 
Yesterday,  however,  the  ground-glass  panes  were  lifted ; 
the  window  was  half  open." 

"  It  is  true,  madam,  one  of  the  panes  was  broken,  as 
you  may  have  noticed." 

"  No,  I  do  not  see  well,  and  for  that  reason  I  seldom 
observe  closely." 

"  I  opened  the  window  yesterday,  as  an  exceptional 
thing  ;  early  this  morning  it  was  repaired,  and  fastened  as 
usual.  It  would  interfere  seriously  with  my  son's  paint- 
ing to  admit  the  light  from  below  ;  and,  in  fact,  he  hangs 
a  curtain  of  green  linen  before  the  ground-glass  panes,  to 
exclude  it  more  eifectually.  He  would  have  to  mount 
upon  a  chair,  therefore,  for  the  express  purpose,  in  order 
to  look  into  your  garden,  and  as  my  son  is  a  serious  man, 
and  not  at  all  an  awkward  school-boy  —  " 

''  Enough,  enough  !  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  about  the 
ground-floor.     The  windows  above  —  " 

"Are  in  my  chamber.  My  son's  room  is  upon  the 
street." 

"And  does  he  never  go  into  your  room?  Will  you 
promise  me  that  no  one  in  my  house  shall  ever  see  a 
man  at  your  windows  ?  " 

"  That  has  never  happened,  and  never  shall  happen,  I 
promise  you." 

"  And  he  will  never  come  to  the  door  opening  into  the 
garden  ?     You  will  tell  him  to  be  guarded  ?  " 


ANTONIA, 


31 


"  Be  perfectly  at  ease  upon  that  point,  madam.  My 
eon  is  a  man  of  honor." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  Warn  him  not  to  call  mine  in 
question.  And  now  say  no  more  about  it ;  that  is  to  say, 
do  not  talk  about  me  any  longer  ;  to  forbid  you  to  speak 
of  him  would  be  too  cruel.  I  know  that  he  is  your  pride 
and  happiness,  and  I  congratulate  you  upon  having  so 
good  a  son." 

Madam  Thierry  had  promised  herself  that  she  would 
not  say  a  word  about  Julien,  but  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  keep  her  word.  Reticent  at  first,  she  soon  began 
to  express  her  idolatry  for  this  worshipped  son,  so  well- 
beloved,  and  so  well  deserving  her  affection.  The 
countess  listened  to  the  enumeration  of  the  talents  and 
virtues  of  the  young  artist  without  any  misplaced  delicacy. 
She  became  a  little  melancholy,  however,  when  the  idea 
occurred  to  her,  that  she,  perhaps,  would  never  have  any 
children  to  occupy  her  youth  and  console  her  old  age. 
IViadam  Tiiierry  divined  her  thoughts,  and  spoke  of  some- 
tliing  else. 

And  what  was  Julien  doing  while  they  were  talking 
about  him  in  the  little  summer  drawing-room  of  the  hotel 
d'Estrelle?  He  was  at  work,  or  pretending  to  be  at 
work.  He  paused  frequently ;  thought  it  too  hot  and 
then  too  cold,  and  trembled  at  the  least  sound.  He  said 
to  himself  that  the  countess  might,  by  chance,  be  uttering 
his  name  at  that  very  moment,  that  she  was  perhaps  ask- 
ing questions  about  him,  out  of  politeness,  and  without 
listening  to  the  reply.  Finally  he  went  to  the  window. 
The  lower  sash  was  really  fastened,  and  covered  with  a 
piece  of  green  linen,  but  in  this  linen  there  was  an 
im]>erceptible  flaw,  in  the  ground-glass  there  was  a 
transparent  vein,  and  through  this  perfidious  fissure, 
skilfully  discovered  and  skilfully  concealed,  he  saw 
Madam  d'Estrelle  every  day  wandering  amid  the  groves 
of  her  garden,  and  strolling  along  the  walk  which,  from 
the  pavilion,  was  plainly  visible.  He  knew  to  the  mo- 
ment at  what  hours  she  usually  walked,  and  if,  for  any 
reason,  she  made  her  appearance  unexpectedly,  the  mys- 
terious presentiments,  the  thrilUng  intuitions  that  belong 


32  ANTONIA. 

only  to  love,  and  above  all  to  a  first  love,  warned  Lim  of 
her  approach.  At  such  moments  he  had  a  thousand  ex- 
cuses, each  more  ingenious  than  the  last,  for  avoiding  his 
mother's  vigilant  eye,  and  contemplating  his  beautiful 
neighbor  ;  when  everything  else  failed  he  went  up  stairs, 
pretending  that  he  wanted  something  in  his  room,  and 
going  instead  to  his  mother's  room,  —  she  remaining  be- 
low, —  gazed  upon  her  through  the  blinds.  In  a  word,  he 
had  adored  Julie  for  the  last  fifteen  days,  and  Julie  did 
not  know  that  he  had  ever  seen  her  ;  and  Madam  Thierry 
was  deceiving  her  without  knowing  it,  when  she  declared 
that  her  son  could  not  see  her  garden  from  liis  studio,  and 
never  looked  from  the  windows  of  her  chamber. 

Julien  was  remarkably  sensible  in  most  respects,  and 
there  was  something  in  the  sudden  passion  that  had  taken 
possession  of  him  that  seemed  even  to  himself  almost 
insane,  or  at  least  inexplicable ;  but  every  effect  has  its 
cause,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  seek  the  cause  of  his  love, 
and  not  to  admit  that  any  human  experience  is  altogether 
improbable. 

It  was  a  frequent  custom  with  Marcel  Thierry  to  spend 
part  of  the  evening, —  sometimes  alone,  and  sometimes 
accompanied  by  his  wife,  —  with  his  aunt.  Julien  and 
he  loved  each  other  tenderly,  and,  although  they  often 
disagreed.  Marcel  considering  Julien  too  romantic,  and 
Julien  considering  Marcel  too  practical,  they  would  have 
died  for  each  other.  The  lawyer  liked  to  talk  about  his 
profession,  in  which  he  was  rapidly  gaining  distinction. 
He  amused  Julien  by  giving  him  a  description  of  his 
various  clients.  "  There  are  some  of  my  clients,"  he 
said,  "whom  I  find  it  more  honorable  than  profitable  to  . 
serve,  and  these  are  precisely  the  ones  whom  I  esteem 
the  most  highly."  The  Countess  d'Estrelle  he  placed  first 
in  rank  among  these  clients  who  brought  him  no  law- 
suits, but  whose  society  he  found  agreeable  or  advan- 
tageous. He  spoke  of  Madam  d'Estrelle  very  often,  and 
in  enthusiastic  terms,  —  he  referred  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt to  the  unworthy  husband  of  this  beautiful  widow, 
he  denounced  bitterly  the  inhuman  avarice  of  his  family, 
expressed  the  highest  admiration  for  Julie's  sweet  and 


ANTONIA. 


33 


noble  character,  and  involuntarily  referred  so  often  to  her 
beauty  and  grace,  that  Julien  felt  curious  to  see  her.  As 
soon  as  his  wish  was  gratified,  he  fell  in  love  ;  he  may 
have  loved  her  unconsciously  even  before  this. 

Julien  had  never  loved.  He  had  lived  simply  and 
honorably  ;  he  had  just  experienced  a  great  sorrow,  and 
was  in  all  the  plenitude  of  his  physical  and  moral  devel- 
opment ;  his  sensibility  was  stimulated  by  the  courageous 
etforts  that  he  had  made,  by  the  life  he  was  leading  with 
his  mother,  —  a  life  made  up  of  a  continual  exchange  of 
tenderness  between  the  two,  —  and  by  a  disposition  to 
enthusiasm  that  he  had  acquired  in  his  long  intercourse 
with  an  enthusiastic  father.  Since  his  father's  death  he 
had  lived  like  a  hermit ;  denying  himself  every  amuse- 
ment, and  working  desperately  to  preserve  the  honor  of 
his  name,  and  save  his  mother  from  distress.  It  was 
absolutely  necessary  that  all  these  repressed  emotions 
should  find  a  vent ;  his  generous  heart  was  full  to  over- 
flowing. 

We  shall  say  no  more  about  it ;  we  have  spent  too 
much  time  already  in  explaining  an  experience  which 
people  call  impossible,  and  see  every  day  ;  —  an  obstinate, 
violent,  ungovernable  passion  for  an  object  that  is  known 
to  be  unattainable.  Long  before  this,  la  Fontaine  had 
written  these  sensible  lines,  which  have  ever  since  been 
proverbial : 

♦  Love,  when  we  feel  your  magic  spell, 
To  prudence  straight  we  bid  farewell. 


•  Amour,  amour,  quand  tu  nous  tiens, 
On  pent  bien  dire :  *'  Adieu  prudenM  I  * 


34 


ANTONIA. 


II. 

TTTHILE  the  countess  was  conversing  with  Madam 
'  ^  Thierry,  and  while  Julien  was  holding  communion 
with  himself,  Marcel,  not  far  off,  was  talking  with  his 
uncle,  Antoine  Thierry,  the  old  bachelor,  the  ex-ship- 
owner, —  the  wealthy  man  of  the  family. 

Kind  reader,  —  as  it  was  the  fashion  for  authors  to  say 
at  the  time  when  our  story  occurred,  —  be  so  good  as  to 
follow  us  to  the  rue  Blomet.  Leave  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  in 
the  rue  de  Babylone,  walk  for  about  five  minutes  around 
tlie  wall  of  the  garden,  pass  before  the  pavilion  Louis 
XIIL,  follow  the  wall  of  another  garden  larger  than  that 
of  Madam  d'Estrelle,  running  along  another  road  bordered 
with  green  turf,  —  but  muddy  and  broken  up  in  the  middle, 
in  preparation  for  the  continuing  of  the  city  street,  —  turn 
to  your  left  and  enter  another  street  bordered  with  green. 
You  have  now  turned  the  corner  of  the  rue  Blomet,  and 
are  in  front  of  a  large  house  in  the  style  of  Louis  XIV. 
This  is  the  old  hotel  Melcy,  now  owned  and  occupied  by 
M.  Antoine  Thierry.  If  M.  Thierry  v^ould  have  allowed 
us  to  cross  his  immense  enclosure,  we  could  have  gone 
from  Julien's  house  straight  across  the  nurseries  of  the 
garden  to  the  back  of  the  hotel.  But  uncle  Antoine  likes 
to  be  master  of  his  dominions,  and  allows  no  privileges 
even  to  the  widow  and  son  of  his  brother.  Marcel,  there- 
fore, when  he  left  the  countess,  took  the  half-city,  half- 
country  walk  that  we  have  described,  and  finally  entered 
the  cabinet  of  the  rich  man,  an  old  boudoir,  crowded 
with  shelves  and  etageres  covered  with  sacks  of  grain, 
specimens  of  fruit  moulded  in  wax,  and  baskets  filled 
with  horticultural  tools  and  instruments. 

This  cabinet  is  the  chosen  retreat  of  the  proprietor. 
To  get  to  it  you  must  cross  long  galleries  and  immense 
saloons,  loaded  with  gildings  and  projecting  ornaments, 
blackened  by  neglect  and  humidity.  The  windows  are 
always  closed,  the  shutters  are  fastened ;   the  rich  man 


ANTONIA, 


35 


passes  no  time  in  these  magnificent  apartments,  he  enter- 
tains no  company,  gives  neither  balls  nor  dinner-parties, 
loves  no  one,  distrusts  every  one.  All  his  tenderness 
he  bestows  upon  rare  flowers  and  exotic  trees  ;  he  feels  an 
esteem,  also,  for  fruit-trees,  and  meditates  incessantly 
upon  the  pruning  and  grafting  of  his  subjects.  He  over- 
sees and  directs  in  person  a  score  of  gardeners  ;  pays 
them  well,  and  protects  their  families.  Never  talk  to 
him  about  taking  an  interest  in  people  who  do  not  serve 
his  caprices  or  flatter  his  vanity. 

It  was  chance  that  first  inspired  him  with  his  passion 
for  gardening.  One  of  the  merchant-vessels  trading  upon 
his  capital,  and  for  his  profit,  with  distant  parts  of  the  world, 
brought  him  a  variety  of  seeds  from  China,  specimens  of 
which  he  allowed  carelessly  to  fall  into  a  vase  filled  with 
earth.  The  seeds  germinated,  a  plant  grew  and  put  forth 
beautiful  flowers.  The  ship-owner,  who  had  not  antici- 
pated this  result,  and  who  never  in  his  life  had  looked  at 
a  flower,  took  but  little  interest,  at  first,  in  the  matter. 
But  a  botanist  happened  to  call  at  his  house  (a  second 
chance),  and  when  this  connoisseur  saw  the  precious 
plant,  he  was  enraptured,  and  declared  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely new,  and  unknown  in  science. 

The  life  of  M.  Antoine  was  determined  by  this  dis- 
covery. He  had  always  disdained  flowers  :  he  will  never, 
perhaps,  understand  them,  for  he  is  totally  without  ar- 
tistic feeling  ;  but  his  vanity,  starving  from  the  lack  of 
nourishment,  seized  upon  this  windfall ;  he  devoted  him- 
self to  horticulture  because  it  was  his  only  way  of  becom- 
ing famous. 

M.  Antoine  has  a  brother  who  paints  flowers,  who  in- 
terprets them,  cherishes  them,  gives  them  life.  This 
brother  is  admired ;  a  slight  sketch  from  his  hand  is 
prized  more  highly  than  all  the  wealth  of  his  elder  brother. 
The  elder  brother  knows  this,  and  is  jealous  of  his  re- 
nown. He  cannot  hear  art  spoken  of  without  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  He  thinks  the  world  foolish  and  unjust  to 
be  amused  by  such  trifles,  instead  of  admiring  the  force 
of  character  of  a  man  who  has  had  the  ability  to  gain 
millions  by  his  own  exertions.     He  is  sad,  anxious.     But 


36  ANTONIA. 

suddenly  all  this  is  changed :  he  will  gain  notoriety  in 
his  turn.  The  flowers  that  his  brother  paints  upon  can- 
vas he  will  produce,  —  he  will  make  them  grow  out  of 
the  earth  ;  not  common  flowers,  that  every  one  knows  and 
can  name  as  soon  as  they  see  them  ;  his  flowers  shall  be 
rarities,  —  plants  brought  from  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe,  —  plants  that  botanists  will  have  to  rack  their 
brains  to  define,  classify,  and  christen.  The  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  shall  bear  his  name,  —  his  own  name  !  He 
has  been  upon  the  point  of  giving  it  to  several  of  his  fa- 
vorites, but  he  is  in  no  haste,  for  every  year  his  collection 
is  enriched  by  some  wonder  brought  from  afar.  He  can 
afford  to  wait,  and  he  is  waiting  now  for  a  certain  lily  to 
bloom,  that  promises  to  surpass  all  the  others  ;  and  to 
which,  ii'his  expectations  are  fulfilled,  he  intends  giving, 
in  addition  to  its  generic  name,  the  specific  name  of 
Antonia  Thierrii. 

He  has  time  enough,  and  to  spare  ;  for  uncle  Antome, 
although  sixty-five  years  old,  is  still  hardy  and  robust. 
He  is  a  short  man,  thin,  and  with  quite  a  handsome  face  ; 
he  would  be  good-looking,  but  his  hands,  hardened  by 
constant  dabbling  in  the  earth,  his  skin  tanned  by  con- 
stant exposure  to  the  wind,  his  neglected  hair,  dusty 
clothes,  and  back  bent  by  physical  labor,  make  him  re- 
semble a  peasant.  His  manners  are  rude,  his  prejudices 
are  obstinate,  he  has  a  hard,  practical,  and  fault-finding 
mind,  and  uses  incorrect,  peremptory,  and  dogmatical 
language  ;  so  that,  in  the  heart  of  Paris,  and  in  a  palace 
of  which  he  is  the  careless  and  abstracted  master,  he  pre- 
sents the  living  image  of  a  rustic  boor.  He  never  re- 
ceived any  education  ;  and,  in  regard  to  the  refinements 
and  elegancies  of  life,  has  remained  absolutely  stupid. 
Any  reference  to  art  or  philosophy  makes  him  almost 
furious.  He  has  really  a  great  deal  of  intellect,  but  it 
is  exclusively  concentrated  upon  practical  calculations. 
Hence  it  is  that  he  has  grown  rich ;  hence  it  is  that  he 
has  become  a  horticultural  hermit. 

Marcel  saluted  his  uncle  abruptly,  and  without  the  slight- 
est deference.  He  knows  that  courtesy  will  be  thrown 
away  upon  uncle  Antoine  ;  that  it  is  only  by  struggling 


ANTONIA. 


37 


with  him  obstinately  and  rudely,  if  necessary,  that  tlie 
ex-ship-owner  can  be  made  to  yield  in  anything  what- 
ever. He  knows  that  his  first  impulse  is  always  to  say 
no,  that  no  very  probably  will  be  his  final  answer,  and 
that,  to  wring  from  him  one  poor  aflirmative  out  of  a 
hundred  negatives,  he  must  be  prepared  to  fight  without 
fainting.  Marcel  is  well-tempered  (it  is  a  family  trait), 
and  his  professional  habits  of  contention,  and,  above  all, 
his  habit  of  fighting  with  his  uncle,  make  him  find  a  sort 
of  rude  enjoyment  in  this  occupation,  by  which  an  artist 
would  be  instantly  repelled. 

"  Look  here ! "  he  opened  the  conversation  by  say- 
ing; "I  have  brought  you  something  to  sign." 

"  I  shall  sign  nothing ;  my  word  is  enough." 

"Yes,  for  those  who  know  you." 

"  Every  one  knows  me." 

"Almost  every  one;  but  I  have  got  idiots  to  deal 
with.     Come  —  sign,  sign  ! " 

"  No,  you  might  as  well  talk  to  a  post !  My  word  is 
as  good  as  gold  ;  so  much  the  worse  for  those  who  doubt 
it." 

"  Then  you  want  to  see  the  house  at  Sevres  sold?  Your 
brother's  creditor  will  be  delighted,  no  doubt,  but  he 
will  have  good  cause,  from  this  time,  to  doubt  my 
word." 

"  It  seems  that  you  have  a  bad  reputation." 

"  Apparently." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  mind  it  much ! " 

"  What  would  you  have?  If  I  talk  in  a  different  wayj 
you  won't  sign  ;  I  want  to  make  you  sign." 

"  Ah,  you  want  it  —  and  why?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  escape  the  annoyance  and  fa- 
tigue of  returning  to  Sevres,  and  waiting  until  the  people 
there  make  up  their  minds  to  come  and  see  you ;  not  to 
speak  of  the  derangement  that  this  will  be  to  my  busi- 
ness. Sending  this  paper  by  my  clerk  will  relieve  all 
difficulties,  and  save  me  trouble  and  expense.  Do  you 
understand  that  ?  " 

"  You  make  me  do  whatever  you  choose,"  replied  the 
fillip-owner,  taking  his  pen.     He  dipped  it  three  or  four 


38  ANTONIA. 

times  into  the  ink  without  deciding,  read  and  reread 
the  deed  making  him  responsible  for  six  thousand  livrea 
in  behalf  of  his  brothers  estate,  —  looked  at  Marcel,  to 
see  whether  he  was  anxious  or  impatient,  and,  at  the 
sight  of  his  impassible  face,  renounced,  with  regret,  the 
hope  of  putting  him  into  a  passion.  Finally,  he  signed 
the  deed,  and  threw  it  into  his  face,  saying  with  an  ill- 
natured  laugh, — 

''  Go,  beggar  !  You  never  enter  my  house  except  to 
get  something  out  of  me.  You  might  have  been  their 
security  yourself,  —  you  are  rich  enough." 

"  If  I  were,  the  affair  would  have  been  settled  long  ago  ; 
you  may  be  sure  of  that.  I  have  not  yet  paid  off  my  own 
obligations,  and  can  no  longer  hide  from  Julien  that  what 
I  have  done  for  him  has  embarrassed  me.  He  is  troubled 
about  it,  his  mother  is  grieved  —  " 

"Oh!  his  mother,  —  his  mother, — "said  the  rich 
man,  with  an  expression  of  profound  aversion. 

"  Every  one  knows  that  you  dislike  her,  and  she  will 
never  ask  any  favors  from  you,  —  you  need  not  be  afraid  ; 
but,  with  your  permission,  I  love  my  aunt,  and  Julien 
worships  her.  He  will  pay  the  whole  debt  himself  before 
two  years  are  passed  ;  if  necessary,  I  will  help  him,  and 
you,  I  flatter  myself,  will  have  nothing  to  disburse." 

"  I  do  not  flatter  myself  with  anything  of  the  kind. 
However,  I  will  render  them  this  service,  —  but  it  shall 
be  the  last." 

"  And  the  first  also,  my  dear  uncle." 

Marcel,  by  this  time,  had  folded  the  deed  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket ;  leaning  his  elbow  upon  the  table,  and  look- 
ing his  uncle  straight  in  the  face,  he  added,  — 

"  Do  you  know,  my  good  uncle,  that  you  would  have 
been  a  great  brute  if  you  had  allowed  your  brother's 
country-house  to  be  sold  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  that  is  what  you  are  coming  to,"  cried  M.  An- 
toine,  rising,  and  striking  the  table  a  blow  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  the  fist  of  a  peasant.  "  You  want  me  to 
spend  my  money,  gained  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  in 
paying  the  debts  of  a  spendthrift?  When  was  it  necessary 
for  artists  to  have  houses  of  their  own,  to  fill  them  with 


ANTONIA.  yy 

vain  baubles  more  precious  than  the  eyes  in  their  heads ;  to 
have  gardens  with  bridges  and  turrets,  when  they  cannot 
raise  a  single  lettuce  ?  What  is  it  to  me,  although  my 
brother's  folly  is  sold,  and  although  his  widow  can  no 
longer  have  first-rate  cooks  in  her  kitchen,  and  great 
lords  at  her  table?  They  were  very  well  pleased,  no 
doubt,  when  they  were  entertaining  counts  and  mar- 
quesses, and  when  madame  could  say,  '  My  house,  my 
people,  my  servants ! '  I  knew  very  well,  for  my  part, 
what  such  extravagance  would  lead  to.  And  look  at. 
them  now,  crying  out  for  the  help  of  the  old  rat,  wlio, 
despising  the  world,  disdaining  luxury,  and  devoting  hin> 
self  to  useful  works,  lives  in  his  comer,  like  a  wise 
man  and  a  philosopher.  They  bow  the  head,  they  hold 
out  the  paw,  and  he  who  would  not  give  out  of  pity, 
—  such  people  do  not  deserve  pity,  —  he  gives  out  of 
pride.  It  is  in  this  way  that  he  revenges  himself.  Go  ! 
repeat  that  to  your  aunt,  the  beautiful  princess  in  dis- 
tress !  Your  brute  of  an  uncle  gives  you  this  commis- 
sion. —  Off  with  you,  dog  of  a  lawyer !  what  do  you  mean 
by  trying  to  stare  me  out  of  countenance?" 

In  fact.  Marcel  had  fixed  his  small,  gray,  brilliant  eyes 
upon  his  uncle's  face,  and  was  studying  it  as  if  he  would 
have  liked  to  read  his  very  soul. 

"  Bah  !  '*  he  said,  rising  suddenly ;  "  you  are  a  very  hard 
man,  a  great  brute,  I  repeat ;  but  you  are  not  so  wicked 
as  you  pretend  !  You  have  some  cause  for  hating  your 
sister-in-law  that  no  one  knows  anything  about,  and 
which  you  do  not  acknowledge,  perhaps,  to  yourself. 
Now  I  intend  to  find  out  your  secret,  my  dear  uncle,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that,  for  I  shall  make  a  special  business 
of  it ;  and  when  I  set  about  a  thing  I  am  like  you,  —  I 
never  give  it  up." 

Marcel  continued  to  watch  the  rich  man  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  noticed  a  remarkable  change  in  his  expression. 
The  coarse  flush  that  had  covered  his  face,  burnt  by  the 
sun  of  the  early  spring,  was  succeeded  by  a  sudden  pale- 
ness. His  lips  trembled,  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  black, 
bushy  brows,  and,  turning  his  back  upon  his  nephew, 
went  into  the  garden  without  a  word. 


40 


ANTONIA 


Gardens  imitating  the  sylvan  style  of  Trianon,  with  arti- 
ficial rocks,  fantastic  edifices,  and  miniature  cows  of  coarse 
earthenware,  lying  on  the  green  grass,  were  the  rage  at 
that  time,  but  M.  Antoine's  was  not  of  this  description. 
Nor  was  it,  like  that  of  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  an  undulating 
lawn,  with  winding  walks,  groves  regularly  planted,  and 
broken  columns  reflected  in  limpid  pools  ;  one  of  the  first 
picturesque  attempts  in  the  style  of  the  modern  English 
garden.  Neither  did  it  display  the  old-fashioned  square 
beds  and  ^ong  regular  borders  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV". 
The  ground  was  cut  up  and  intersected  according  to  the 
taste  of  M.  Antoine.  Everywhere  you  beheld  baskets, 
hearts,  stars,  triangles,  ovals,  shields,  trifoils,  surrounded 
with  green  borders  and  with  a  labyrinth  of  little  paths. 

Flowers  of  every  variety,  —  all  beautiful  or  curious,  — 
glittered  in  these  strange  beds,  but  they  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  their  natural  grace.  Imprisoned  under  bulrush 
cages,  brass  net-wire,  reed  parasols ;  protected  and  sup- 
ported by  props  and  stays  of  every  description,  preserving 
them  from  the  stains  of  the  earth,  heat  of  the  sun,  and 
rude  caresses/ of  the  wind,  they  no  longer  looked  like 
themselves.  His  rose-bushes,  cut  and  pruned  every  hour, 
were  so  clean  and  shining  that  they  looked  artificial. 
His  peonies  were  as  large  and  round  as  the  tufts  on  a 
grenadier's  cap,  and  his  tulips  glittered  in  the  sun  like 
tin-foil.  Around  the  flower-garden  stretched  immense 
nurseries,  poorly  clad  with  foliage,  and  as  melancholy  as 
rows  of  pickets.  This  spectacle  delighted  the  eyes  of  the 
horticulturist,  and  dissipated  his  melancholy. 

There  was  only  one  agreeable  walk  in  this  immense 
enclosure,  and  that  was  in  the  corner  of  the  garden  next 
the  pavilion  occupied  by  Madam  Thierry.  There,  for  the 
last  twenty  years,  M.  Antoine  had  acclimated  ornamental 
and  exotic  trees.  These  trees  were  already  well  grown, 
and  cast  a  fine  shade ;  but,  as  they  no  longer  required 
careful  and  minute  attention,  he  had  ceased  to  feel  the 
least  interest  in  them,  and  greatly  preferred  the  seed  of  a 
piae-tree  or  a  newly-sprouted  acacia. 

His  greenhouse  was  marvellously  beautiful,  and  it  was 
there  tiiat  he  hastened  to  bury  the  bitter  memories  that 


ANTONIA. 


41 


Alarcel  had  awakened.  He  walked  through  the  depart- 
ment of  his  favorite  plants,  —  lilies,  —  and,  after  assuring 
himself  that  those  in  bloom  were  in  good  condition,  he 
paused  before  a  little  china  vase,  where  an  unknown  bulb 
was  beginning  to  put  forth  slender  shoots  of  a  dark  and 
brilliant  green. 

"  What  will  it  be  like?  "  he  thought ;  ''  will  it  make 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  horticulture,  like  so  many 
plants  that  owe  their  renown  to  me  ?  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  have  produced  anything  new  in  my  establishment, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  no  longer  talked  about  as 
much  as  I  ought  to  be." 

Marcel,  in  the  meanwhile,  went  away  absorbed  in 
thought.  There  was  one  curious  feature  in  the  avarice 
of  M.  Antoine,  and  this  was  that  he  was  not  avaricious. 
He  did  not  hoard  up  his  money ;  he  did  not  practise 
usury,  and  had  never  done  so ;  he  denied  himself  nothing 
that  he  took  a  fancy  to,  and  sometimes,  out  of  vanity,  he 
did  good.  How  was  it  that  he  had  refused  to  purchase 
tlie  property  of  his  defunct  brother  for  his  nephew?  This 
act  of  liberality  would  have  caused  him  to  be  talked  about 
more  widely,  and  with  more  admiration,  than  the  future 
Antonia  Thierrii.  Why  had  he  allowed  such  a  fine  op- 
portunity of  gaining  notoriety  to  escape  him?  This  point 
Marcel  souglit  in  vain  to  explain.  He  knew  that  the  ship- 
owner had  always  been  jealous  of  his  brother ;  jealous, 
not  of  his  talent,  —  for  that  he  despised, — but  of  his 
celebrity,  and  the  favor  with  which  he  was  received  in  the 
fashionable  world.  But  surely  this  jealousy  must  have 
died  with  the  old  Andre.  Why  should  his  widow  and  son 
reap  the  sad  inheritance? 

A  thought  occurred  to  Marcel :  he  turned  back,  followed 
M.  Antoine  to  the  greenhouse,  and,  interrupting  his  hor- 
ticultural reveries,  said,  in  a  cheerful  tone,  — 

"  By  the  way,  uncle,  do  you  want  to  purchase  the 
pavilion  of  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  ?  " 

''  Imbecile !  If  the  pavilion  is  for  sale,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  ?  " 

'*  I  forgot  it.  Well  then,  how  much  will  you  give  for 
it?" 


42  ANTONIA, 

"  How  much  is  it  worth?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  already.  To  the  Countess  d'Estrelle, 
who  has  just  accepted  the  property,  it  is  worth  ten 
thousand  francs ;  as  you  are  anxious  to  get  it,  and  are 
in  want  of  it,  it  is  worth  double  that  to  you.  It  remains 
to  be  seen  whether  the  countess  will  not  ask  you  three 
times  as  much." 

"  Of  course !  That  is  the  way  with  your  great 
ladies  !  They  are  sharper  and  meaner  than  the  plebeians 
they  despise." 

"  The  Countess  d'Estrelle  despises  no  one." 

"It  is  false !  she  is  just  as  great  a  fool  as  any  of 
them.  She  has  lived  at  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  four  years, 
and,  during  all  that  time,  although  there  is  only  a  wall 
between  us,  has  never  had  the  curiosity  to  come  and  see 
my  garden." 

''  Perhaps  she  don't  know  anything  about  rare  plants." 

"  Say,  rather,  that  she  would  consider  herself  disgraced 
if  she  set  foot  in  the  house  of  a  plebeian." 

"  Ah !  You  want  a  young  woman  in  mourning  to 
compromise  herself  by  coming  to  walk  in  your  garden, 
—  a  bachelor  of  your  age." 

"  My  age  !  Are  you  joking?  How  could  a  man  of 
my  age  be  talked  about  ?  " 

"There  is  no  knowing!  You  were  a  volcano  at 
one   time." 

"  I !     What  are  you  talking  about,  animal?  '* 

"  You  will  never  make  me  believe  that  you  have 
never  been  in  love." 

"  What  do  you  say  that  for?  Surely  I  have  never 
been  in  love.     I'm  not  such  a  fool." 

"That  is  all  false.  You  may  call  yourself  a  fool  as 
much  as  you  choose,  but  you  have  been  in  love,  at  least 
once !  Deny  it  if  you  can,"  Marcel  added,  as  he  saw 
that  the  horticulturist  was  again  becoming  pale  and 
agitated. 

"  Have  done  with  this  nonsense !  "  replied  uncle  An- 
toine,  stamping  on  the  ground  with  vexation.  "  You  aro 
the  lawyer  of  Madam  d'Estrelle  ;  are  you  commissioned 
to  sell  the  pavilion  ?  " 


ANTONIA. 


43 


"  No,  but  T  have  a  right  to  offer  it !  How  much  will 
/ou  give  for  it?" 

"  Not  a  sou !  Take  yourself  off,  and  leave  me  in 
peace." 

"I  am  at  liberty,  then,  to  offer  it  to  another  pur- 
chaser?" 

"What  other?" 

"  There  has  been  no  applicant  as  yet.  I  have  no  taste 
for  trickery,  and  will  not  betray  your  interests  ;  but  you 
know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  they  are  building  up  the  street, 
and  that,  this  evening  or  to-morrow  morning,  a  dozen 
would-be  purchasers  may  be  quarrelling  over  the  pavilion." 

"  If  Madam  d'Estrelle  chooses  to  enter  into  negotia- 
tions with  me  —  " 

"You  want  to  pay  her  a  visit?  That  can  easily  bt» 
arranged." 

"She  will  receive  a  visit  from  me?"  said  M.  An- 
toine,  his  eyes  lighting  up  for  an  instant. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Marcel. 

"  Ah,  yes  I  she  will  grant  me  an  interview  in  her 
court,  or,  at  the  most,  in  her  ante-chamber ;  —  she  will 
stand  up  between  two  doors  and  receive  me,  as  she  would 
a  dog,  —  or  a  lawyer  I " 

"  You  think  a  great  deal  of  good  manners,  then  ;  you,  who 
never  take  your  hat  off  before  any  one,  no  matter  who. 
But  set  your  heart  at  rest.  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  as  polite 
to  deserving  people  of  our  class,  as  to  the  greatest  aristo- 
crats. The  proof  of  this  is,  that  she  is  on  the  best  terms 
with  my  aunt  Thierry  ;  they  are  already  almost  friends." 

"Ah!  there  is  nothing  strange  in  that,  —  your  aunt 
is  noble.  The  nobles,  —  bah !  they  understand  each 
other  like  thieves  in  a  fair." 

"  Sapristi  I  uncle,  what  have  you  now  against  your 
sister-in-law?" 

"  I  have  this  against  her  —  that  I  detest  her  !  " 

"I  see  that;  but  why?" 

"  Because  she  is  noble.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  the 
nobility.  They  have  no  hearts,  and  they  are  all  un- 
grateful ! " 

"  You  were  in  love  with  her,  then  1  ** 


44  ANTONIA. 

M.  Antoine  was  completely  overcome  by  this  direct 
question.  He  grew  first  pale,  and  then  purple,  with  rage  ; 
he  swore,  pulled  his  hair,  and  cried  furiously,  — 

"  She  told  you  so  —  she  pretends,  she  dares  relate — " 

"  Nothing  at  all.  I  have  never  been  able  to  make  her 
say  a  word  about  you  ;  but  I  have  had  my  suspicions  all 
along,  —  and  now  you  acknowledge  the  truth.  Tell  me 
all  about  it,  uncle,  it  will  be  worth  your  while,  for  the 
confession  will  relieve  you  ;  at  least,  once  in  your  life,  you 
will  have  yielded  to  a  good  impulse,  and  will  be  at  peace 
with  yourself." 

A  good  half  hour  passed  before  the  ex-ship-owner  had 
poured  forth  all  the  spite  and  bitterness  with  which  his 
heart  was  filled  ;  he  abused  Marcel,  Madam  Thierry,  and 
his  defunct  brother,  with  almost  equal  violence.  Marcel 
teased  him  cruelly  ;  but  finally,  when  he  liad  succeeded  in 
exhausting  him,  he  carried  the  day.  Old  Antoine  related 
the  following  story  by  fits  and  starts,  forcing  the  lawyer  to 
draw  from  him  by  piecemeal  the  secret  of  liis  life,  which 
was,  at  the  same  time,  that  of  his  character. 

The  elopement  of  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil  and  Andre 
Thierry  occurred  forty  years  before  the  opening  of  our 
story ;  after  their  flight,  the  lovers  came  to  M.  Antoine 
Thierry,  who,  although  young,  was  already  a  rich  man, 
to  beg  an  asylum.  Hitherto  the  brothers  had  been  good 
friends.  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil  was  secreted  in  the 
house  of  the  ship-owner,  and  regarded  him  with  sincere 
friendship  and  holy  confidence.  Pursued  by  the  family 
de  Meuil,  and  exposed  to  the  danger  of  being  sent  to  the 
Bastile,  Andre  was  obliged  to  leave  Paris  so  as  to  mis- 
lead his  enemies  ;  in  the  meanwhile  powerful  protectors, 
interested  in  his  favor,  endeavored  to  bring  about  a 
reconciliation,  and  finally  succeeded  in  doing  so. 

Tlie  separation  of  the  lovers  lasted  several  months ; 
and,  during  this  period.  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil,  a  prey 
to  the  most  terrible  anxiety,  thought  several  times  of 
returning  to  her  relatives,  so  as  to  save  her  lover  from 
the  perils  and  misfortunes  that  threatened  him.  More 
than  once  she  discussed  her  plans  confidentially  with 
bi other  Andre;   she   asked  his  advice,  and  did  not  hide 


ANTONIA. 


AS 


from  him  her  grief  and  alarm.  Thus  appealed  to,  M. 
Antoine  conceived  a  really  whimsical  idea  ;  the  plan  that 
the  poor  man  formed  was  suggested  neither  by  treachery 
nor  passion,  but  it  very  soon  brought  his  morbid  vanity 
into  full  play.     But  let  him  speak  for  himself: 

"  That  girl,"  he  said,  "  was  lost,  although  she  and 
my  brother  had  never  lived  together  as  man  and  wife. 
She  was  too  much  compromised  to  be  received  again  by 
her  family,  and  could  hope  for  nothing  better  than  to 
be  sent  to  end  her  days  in  a  convent.  My  brother 
seemed  to  me  in  a  still  worse  plight :  they  had  obtained 
a  leitre  de  cachet  against  him,  which,  at  that  time,  was 
no  joke.  He  might  have  been  thrown  into  prison  at  any 
moment,  and  have  lain  there  for  twenty  years,  —  how 
did  I  know  ?  —  perhaps  for  his  whole  life  !  The  young 
lady  was  constantly  telling  me  all  this  herself;  every 
moment  she  cried,  '  What  shall  we  do,  M.  Antoine  ? 
Mon  Dieul  what  shall  we  do?'  So  then  the  idea 
occurred  to  me  that  I  would  save  them  both  by  marrying 
her.  I  was  not  in  love  with  her.  No !  The  devil  take 
me  if  I  am  lying.  She  belonged  to  a  good  family,  and 
that  gave  her  a  sort  of  distinction,  —  not  in  my  eyes,  for 
I  have  no  prejudices,  but  in  the  opinion  of  other  people,  — 
and  but  for  that  she  would  not  have  been  worth  noticing. 
You  laugh !  What  are  you  laughing  at,  ass  of  a 
lawyer  ?  " 

''I  am  not  laughing,"  said  Marcel.  "Goon,  —  you 
told  her  your  fine  idea." 

"■  Plainly  and  fairly ;  I  was  no  more  of  a  fool  than  my 
brother,  and  could  express  myself  just  as  well.  Pray 
was  he  an  eagle  in  those  days?  He  was  an  insignificant 
dauber,  who  had  not  had  sense  enough  to  lay  up  two  sous, 
and  who  had  no  reputation  at  all.  Was  he  more  polite 
than  I,  —  younger,  —  better  bred  ?  We  had  been  brought 
up  together,  and  he  had  but  one  advantage  ;  I  was  five 
years  his  senior.  As  far  as  appearances  are  concerned,  I 
was  better  looking  than  he  ;  Andre  never  was  handsome. 
He  was  a  great  babbler,  and  had  always  been  so  ;  I  did 
not  talk  so  much,  but  was  more  sensible.  Brothers,  born 
of  the  same  parents,  with  the  same  blood  flowing  in  our 


46  ANTONIA, 

veius,  we  were  alike  plebeians.  In  the  meanwhile  I  had 
already  made  nearly  a  million  that  no  one  knew  anything 
about !  This  gave  me  a  good  deal  of  poAver  which  my 
brother  did  not  possess.  With  a  million  you  can  lull 
justice  to  sleep,  pacify  relatives,  buy  up  protectors  who 
will  not  fail  you  ;  you  can  even  reach  the  ear  of  the  king, 
and  are  quite  good  enough  to  marry  a  girl  of  a  noble 
family  with  no  dowry  of  her  own.  If  people  make  an 
outcry,  it  is  because  they  would  like  to  have  your  million 
in  their  own  pockets.  Finally,  my  money  proved,  plainly 
enough,  that  it  was  not  from  any  lack  of  mind  or  genius, 
that  I  was  not  such  a  fine  talker  as  my  brother.  All  this 
the  young  lady  ought  to  have  understood.  I  did  not  ask 
her  to  love  me  immediately,  but  to  love  her  Andre  well 
enough  to  forget  him,  and  save  him  from  being  sent  to 
rot  in  prison.  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  She  behaved  like 
a  prude  ;  instead  of  recognizing  my  good  sense  and  gen- 
erosity, she  flew  into  a  passion,  called  me  rude,  treated 
me  like  a  bad  brother  and  a  dishonest  man,  and  de- 
(nimped  from  my  house  without  telling  me  where  she  was 
going.  Running  all  sorts  of  risks  to  avoid  seeing  me 
again,  she  departed ;  and,  by  way  of  thanks,  left  me  a 
letter  promising  never  to  inform  M.  Andre  of  my  treach- 
ery. I  acknowledge  that  I  have  never  pardoned  her  for 
that,  and  never  will  pardon  her.  As  for  my  brother,  his 
conduct  in  the  affair  offended  me  almost  as  much  as  that 
of  madame.  I  had  no  idea  of  waiting  until  his  haughty 
wife  should  betray  me.  As  soon  as  he  had  escaped  from 
his  troubles,  and  married,  I  told  him  the  whole  story, 
as  I  have  just  told  it  to  you.  Andre  was  not  angry ; 
he  thanked  me,  on  the  contrary,  for  my  good  intentions, 
but  he  began  to  laugh.  You  know  how  frivolous  he  was, 
—  a  weak  head!  Well,  he  thought  my  idea  comical, 
and  made  fun  of  me.  That  put  an  end  to  our  friendship 
forever  ;  I  would  never  consent  to  see  either  wife  or  hus- 
band again." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Marcel ;  "  finally  that  mystery  is  solved. 
Bat  Julien  !  — What  grudge  can  you  have  against  Julien? 
He  was  not  born  at  the  time  of  your  grievances." 


ANTONIA. 


47 


"I  have  no  grudi^e  against  Julien,  but  he  is  the  son 
of  his  mother,  and  I  ara  sure  that  he  hates  me." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Julien  knows  nothing  about  the 
facts  that  you  have  just  related  ;  your  conduct  since  his 
father's  death  is  all  that  he  knows  about  you.  Do  you 
think  he  can  approve  of  that?  Was  it  not  your  duty  to 
purchase  the  house  for  his  mother,  when  he  swore,  in 
the  most  solemn  manner,  that  he  would  devote  his  life 
to  paying  you  ?  " 

"  Fine  security,  the  life  of  a  painter !  What  became 
of  his  father,  —  and  he  was  famous  ?  " 

"  Even  if  you  had  lost  fifty  thousand  francs  or  so, 
you  who  have  more  than  —  " 

'•''  Hold  your  tongue  !  The  amount  of  a  fortune  should 
never  be  mentioned.  When  such  words  are  spoken,  the 
walls,  the  trees,  the  very  flower-pots  have  ears." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  are  rich  enough  to  have  purchased 
the  house  at  Sevres  without  inconvenience ;  you  will 
acknowledge  that  ?  " 

''  Do  you  want  to  make  me  out  a  miser?  " 

"  I  know  that  you  are  not  a  miser,  but  I  am  forced  to 
believe  that  you  are  wicked,  and  that  you  love  to  see 
those  to  whom  you  are  hostile  suffer." 

"•Well,  have  I  not  the  right  to  do  so?  Since  when 
have  we  been  forbidden  to  revenge  ourselves  ?  " 

"  Since  we  have  ceased  to  be  savages." 

"  I  am  a  savage,  then  !  " 

"  Yes ! " 

"Go  away,  —  you  have  worn  out  my  patience!  — 
Take  care  that  I  do  not  turn  against  you  also  1 " 

''  I  defy  you  to  do  so  !  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  know  that  I  am  the  only  person  in  the 
world  who,  in  spite  of  all  your  perversities,  feels  a  little 
affection  and  love  for  you." 

"  How  discerning  you  are !  You  acknowledge  that 
Julien  detests  me." 

"  Make  him  love  you !  then  you  wiU  have  two  friends 
instead  of  one." 

"  Ah,  of  course  !  you  want  me  to  purchase  the  housOv 


48  ANTONIA, 

Very  well,  when  Julien  becomes  an  orphan  I  will  look 
after  his  interests,  on  condition  that  he  never  speaks  to 
me  of  his  mother." 

""You  would  like  him  to  kill  her,  perhaps?  You  are 
a  fool,  uncle  ;  that  is  the  long  and  the  short  of  it.  Yov. 
are  excessively  vain,  and  you  worship  rank  more  than 
those  who  can  boast  of  their  ancestors.  I  am  certain 
that  you  were  not  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil  ■, 
but  she  belonged  to  a  good  family,  and  for  that  reason 
you  wanted  to  supplant  your  brother.  You  were  furi- 
ously jealous  of  poor  Andre,  not  because  you  loved  a 
beautiful  and  noble  woman,  but  because  of  the  parch- 
ments which  were  her  marriage  portion,  and  the  sort  of 
glory  reflected  upon  him  by  her  affection.  In  a  word, 
you  do  not  hate  the  nobility ;  you  worship  them,  you 
envy  them,  you  would  give  all  your  millions  to  have 
been  born  noble.  Your  pretended  fury  against  them 
is  nothing  but  the  spite  of  a  disdained  lover,  as  your 
hatred  against  my  aunt  is  merely  the  malice  of  an 
obstinate  and  humiliated  plebeian.  This,  my  poor 
uncle,  is  your  mania.  We  each  of  us  have  one,  it  is 
said,  but  this  of  yours  makes  you  a  bad  man,  and  I  am 
sorry  for  you." 

The  ex-ship-owner  felt,  perhaps,  that  Marcel  was 
right ;  consequently  he  was  prepared  to  work  himself 
up  into  a  more  violent  rage  than  ever ;  but  Marcel 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  turned  his  back  upon  him,  and 
went  away  without  paying  the  least  attention  to  hia 
invectives. 

In  his  heart,  Marcel  was  very  glad  to  have  got  poss- 
session  of  his  uncle's  secret,  —  the  clue  to  his  thoughts 
and  recollections.  He  promised  himself  that  he  would 
turn  his  discovery  to  good  account,  and,  by  means  of  it, 
would  lead  M.  Antoine  to  amend.  Will  he  succeed  in 
this  effort?     The  sequel  must  show. 

"Madam,"  said  Marcel  to  the  Countess  d'Estrelle, 
the  next  morning,  "  you  must  sell  your  pavilion." 

"  Wh/?"  replied  Julie.  "  It  is  so  old,  out  of  repair, 
and  is  worth  so  little  !  " 

"  It  has  a  relative  value  which  you  should  not  despise 


ANTONIA,  49 

My  uncle  will  give  you  ten  thousand  francs  for  it,  -— 
perhaps  more." 

"  This  is  the  first  time,  my  dear  lawyer,  that  you 
have  given  me  bad  advice.  I  would  never  consent  to 
take  advantage  of  a  neighbor.  Would  not  that  be  specu- 
lating upon  the  need  that  he  may  have  of  this  old 
building?" 

"  A  little  patience,  my  noble  client !  My  uncle  does 
not  need  the  pavilion  ;  he  wants  it :  that,  I  assure  you  is 
a  very  different  thing.  He  is  rich  enough  to  pay  for  his 
fancies.  And  what  would  you  say  if  he  thanked  you  for 
your  demands  ?  " 

^'How  can  that  be?" 

"Make  his  acquaintance,  and  he  will  offer  you  a 
consideration  above  the  price." 

"  Fie,  Monsieur  Thierry  !  Would  you  have  me  pay 
court  to  his  money  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  bestow  a  smile  of  patronizing  goodness 
upon  it,  and  it  will  fly  to  you  of  its  own  accord.  Be- 
sides, you  will  be  doing  a  good  deed." 

"How  so?" 

"  Show  my  uncle  that  you  feel  an  affection  and  esteem 
for  my  aunt  and  cousin,  —  your  tenants,  —  and  you  will 
force  the  old  man  to  help  them  effectually  in  their 
distress." 

"  I  will  do  that  with  all  my  heart,  Monsieur  Thierry, 
and  I  already  know  your  aunt  well  enough  to  appreciate 
her.  But  what  can  I  say  of  your  cousin,  whom  I  do  not 
know?" 

"  Do  not  hesitate  upon  that  account.  You  can  take 
him  upon  trust  fearlessly.  Julien  has  a  noble  heart,  —  a 
lofty  mind,  —  a  soul  above  his  condition  ;  he  is  the  best 
of  sons,  the  truest  of  friends,  the  most  honest  of  men, 
and,  moreover,  the  most  reasonable  of  artists.  You  can 
suy  all  that,  countess,  and  if  Julien  ever  gives  the  lie  to 
your  statements,  I  am  willing  to  forfeit  your  confidence 
and  esteem." 

Marcel  spoke  with  so  much  enthusiasm,  that  Julie  was 
deeply  impressed.  She  refrained  from  asking  questions, 
but  listened,  without  losing  a  word,  to  the  conclusion 

4 


50 


ANTONIA. 


of  his  eulogy,  and  Marcel  entered  into  details  with  which 
any  one,  not  absolutely  incapable  of  feeling,  would  have 
been  touched.  He  told  her  of  Julien's  devotion  to  his 
mother,  of  the  sufferings  he  had  endured  without  her 
knowledge  ;  how  he  even  went  without  food  in  order  that 
she  might  not  be  deprived  of  it.  In  making  this  state- 
ment. Marcel,  like  Madam  Thierry  on  the  preceding  day, 
uttered  a  falsehood  without  knowing  it.  Julien  did  not 
eat,  because  he  was  in  love ;  and  Marcel,  who  was  far 
from  suspecting  the  truth,  thought  that  he  understood  the 
cause  of  his  involuntary  austerity.  But  Julien  was  cap- 
able of  doing  a  great  deal  more  for  his  mother  than 
restraining  his  appetite :  he  would  have  given  the  last 
drop  of  his  blood  for  her ;  so  that  Marcel,  although  he 
did  not  state  the  exact  truth  in  regard  to  a  special  fact, 
stated  far  less  than  the  truth. 

His  panegyric  upon  Julien  was  so  enthusiastic  and 
heartfelt,  that  the  countess  had  no  excuse  for  hesitating. 
She  begged  Marcel  to  inform  uncle  Antoine  that  she  was 
anxious  to  see  his  rare  flowers,  and  to  visit  his  immense 
and  curious  plantations.  Uncle  Antoine  received  this 
communication  with  an  air  of  haughty  scepticism. 

"  I  understand  all  that,"  he  said  ;  "  she  wants  a  high 
price  for  the  pavilion  ;  she  will  make  me  pay  the  eyes  out 
of  my  head  for  her  politeness." 

Marcel  was  not  duped  by  his  grumbling.  The  satis- 
faction of  the  rich  man  was  too  apparent. 

On  the  appointed  day.  Madam  d'Estrelle  dressed  herself 
once  more  in  deep  mourning,  stepped  into  her  carriage, 
and  drove  to  the  hotel  Melcy.  Marcel  was  standing  at 
the  door  awaiting  her.  He  offered  her  his  hand,  and,  as 
they  ascended  the  great  front  steps,  uncle  Antoine  made 
his  appearance  in  all  his  glory,  in  the  dress  of  a  gardener. 
Considering  the  folly  of  the  old  man,  this  really  was  not 
a  bad  idea.  Without  consulting  Marcel,  he  had  half 
resolved  to  array  himself  magnificently.  He  was  rich 
enough  to  wear  cloth  of  gold,  if  he  desired  it,  but  the  fear 
of  looking  ridiculous  restrained  him.  Since  he  prided 
himself,  above  everything  else,  upon  being  a  great  horti- 


ANTONIA. 


51 


culturist,  he  had  sense  enough  to  appear  before  his  distin- 
guished visitor  in  a  severely  rustic  costume. 

In  spite  of  his  harsh  character  and  habitually  rude 
manners,  —  in  spite  of  his  secret  desire  to  assert  his  inde- 
pendence and  philosophical  pride  before  Marcel,  —  he  lost 
countenance  altogether  when  the  beautiful  Julie  saluted 
him  graciously,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  sweet,  frank 
expression.  For  the  first  time  in  thirty  years,  perhaps, 
he  took  off  his  three-cornered  hat,  and,  instead  of  re- 
placing it  immediately  upon  his  head,  held  it  awkwardly, 
but  respectfully,  under  his  arm,  during  the  whole  time 
that  her  visit  lasted. 

Julie  was  above  the  pettiness  of  trying  to  flatter  his 
caprices,  but  she  took  a  genuine  interest  in  the  horti- 
cultural wealth  displayed  to  her.  A  flower  herself,  she 
loved  flowers  ;  and  this  is  not  a  madrigal,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  that  epoch.  There  are  natural  affinities  in  all 
the  creations  of  God,  and  in  all  times  symbols  have  been 
the  expression  of  a  reality. 

The  rich  man,  although  in  himself  not  at  all  like  a 
rose,  felt  his  heart  expand,  nevertheless,  at  the  sincere 
praise  bestowed  upon  his  cherished  plants.  In  presence 
of  the  sylph  who  seemed  to  float  over  the  turf  without 
touching  it,  and  who  glided  along  the  borders  of  his 
flower-beds  like  a  caressing  breeze,  he  gradually  forgot 
his  affected  pride.  With  perfect  resignation,  he  waited 
to  learn  the  amount  that  she  proposed  to  demand  for 
the  pavilion. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Marcel,  who  saw  that  Madam 
d'Estrelle had  forgotten  this  affair,  "tell  the  countess, my 
dear  uncle,  how  anxious  you  are  to  purchase  —  " 

"  Yes,  in  fact,"  said  the  rich  man,  without  allowing 
himself  to  be  too  much  compromised,  "  I  have  had 
some  idea  of  purchasing  the  pavilion  of  the  hotel 
d'Estrelle  ;  but  at  present,  if  madame  regrets  parting  with 
it  —  " 

"  There  is  only  one  reason  that  makes  me  do  so," 
replied  Julie  ;  "  it  is  occupied  by  persons  for  whom  I 
feel  a  great  respect,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  have  them 
disturbed." 


52  ANTONIA. 

"  They  have  a  lease,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  M.  Thierry, 
who  knew  perfectly  <vell  how  matters  stood. 

" Certainly,"  said  Marcel ;  "  and  you  will  have  to  pay 
them  a  large  indemnity  if  they  consent  to  annul  it,  for 
they  have  just  entered  into  possession." 

"A  large  indemnity?"  said  uncle  Antoine,  frown- 
ing." 

"  I  will  willingly  undertake  that  duty,"  said  Madam 
d'Estrelle,  if— " 

"  If  I  pay  in  proportion  !  " 

"  That  is  not  what  I  intended  to  say,"  said  Julie,  in 
a  tone  of  dignity  that  cut  the  discussion  short.  "I  in- 
tended to  say,  that  if  Madam  Thierry,  your  sister-in-law, 
is  imwilling  to  leave  her  lodging,  it  is  my  intention  to 
maintain  her  rights  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  her  lease. 
I  shall  make  this  a  condition  of  the  sale,  and  no  pur- 
chaser will  be  allowed  to  elude  it  under  any  pretext." 

"  Such  a  condition  will  delay  the  sale  of  the  pavilion, 
and  make  it  less  advantageous  to  you,  madams,"  said 
M.  Antoine,  who  was  longing  to  pronounce  the  sweet 
word  countess^  but  who  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to 
do  so. 

"  That  may  be,  Monsieur  Thierry,"  replied  Julie,  in 
a  tone  of  indifference  which  the  rich  man  thought  as- 
sumed, and  very  adroit. 

'^To  come  to  the  point,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence.     "  What  will  be  the  price  demanded  by —  ?  " 

Marcel  was  going  to  reply  ;  but  Julie,  who  certainly 
did  not  understand  business,  did  not  notice  this,  and 
answered,  ingenuously, — 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  I  really  don't  know.  Your  reputation 
is  that  of  an  honest  and  just  man  ;  you  can  fix  the  price 
yourself." 

Without  paying  any  attention  to  the  reproachful  glance 
of  her  lawyer,  she  continued, — 

"You  cannot  suppose,  M.  Thierry,  that  I  came  to 
visit  your  garden  so  as  to  drive  a  bargain  Avith  you 
about  my  little  piece  of  property.  I  know  that  you  would 
like  to  purchase  it,  and  you  know,  probably,  that  my 
affairs  are  embarrassed ;  but  this,  surely,  need  not  make 


ANTONIA.  53 

as  unjust  in  our  dealings  with  each  other.  The  declaration 
that  I  have  just  made  I  shall  abide  by.  I  will  not  con- 
sent to  have  your  sister-in-law  annoyed  upon  any  account, 
—  not  for  a  million,  —  for  I  love  and  honor  her.  Consider 
that  point  settled,  therefore.  As  to  the  other  matter, 
reflect  upon  it,  and  let  me  know  your  decision  ;  for  you 
owe  me  a  visit  now,  my  good  neighbor,  and  I  shall  not 
excuse  you  from  paying  it,  whether  we  conclude  our 
present  negotiations  or  not." 

The  countess  retired,  leaving  the  rich  man  dazzled 
by  her  sweetness  and  grace.  Unable  to  conceal  his  satis- 
faction from  Marcel,  he  tried  to  attribute  it  to  some 
other  cause  than  the  true  one, 

"How  now,  lawyer?"  he  cried,  with  an  air  of  tri- 
umph. "  You  are  caught,  and  look  foolish  enough ! 
What  have  you  to  say  now  about  the  demands  of  this 
lady  ?  She  is  more  sensible  than  you :  she  agrees  to  my 
valuation  —  " 

"  Enjoy  her  pretty  ways,  and  praise  her  politeness,  to 
your  heart's  content,"  replied  Marcel ;  "  but,  at  the  same 
time,  try  to  understand,  and  be  equal  to,  the  part  she 
expects  you  to  play." 

"  In  fact  you  are  right ! "  said  Antoine,  who  was 
very  acute  in  matters  of  business.  "  When  a  great  lady 
says  to  a  man  like  me,  '  Do  as  you  choose,'  she  means, 
'  Pay  like  a  great  lord  ! '  Very  well ;  by  the  life  of  me, 
I  \vill  pay  dear  !  The  countess  shall  see  that  I  am  not 
a  miserly  old  pedant,  like  her  father-in-law,  the  marquis  ! 
There  is  only  one  thing  that  surprises  me  in  a  woman  that 
seems  so  sensible,  and  that  is,  the  friendship  that  she 
feels  for  my  sister-in-law.  I  don't  exactly  know  whether 
she  meant  to  be  agreeable  to  me,  or  to  vex  me,  by  talk- 
ing as  she  did." 

''  She  meant  to  be  agreeable  to  you." 

"  I  suppose  so,  since  she  wants  to  make  use  of  me. 
Still,  my  sister-in-law  may  have  told  her  that  I  was  a 
miser." 

"  My  aunt  has  not  spoken  of  you  at  all.  Behave  so 
that  she  will  not  have  to  complain  about  you." 

"Let  her   complain,  if  she   chooses!      What   harnj 


54 


ANTONIA. 


would  it  do  me  ?  Why  should  I  care  for  the  friendship 
and  respect  of  this  countess  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed  !  "  replied  Marcel,  taking  his  hat.  "  It 
'S  evident  enough  how  indifferent  you  are  !  But  no  mat- 
ter ;  do  your  best  to  behave  like  a  civilized  being,  and 
name  the  day  for  your  visit,  so  that  I  may  announce  it." 

Antoine  appointed  the  day  after  the  morrow,  and  they 
separated.  On  the  very  next  day,  without  informing 
Marcel,  he  took  indirect  but  skilful  measures  for  repur- 
chasing the  house  at  Sevres.  Had  he  resolved  to  restore 
his  father's  house  to  his  nephew,  to  confer  so  great  a 
blessing  upon  his  sister-in-law  ?  Certainly  not !  No  man 
in  the  world  was  more  vindictive  than  M.  Antoine,  for 
he  had  never  found  a  vent  either  for  his  good  or  bad  pas- 
sions, and  repression  had  increased  their  violence.  No 
influences  in  his  narrow  life  had  softened  the  asperities 
of  his  nature.  But,  at  last,  an  impression  was  made 
upon  him.  Without  affectation  and  without  calculation, 
merely  by  unconsciously  flattering  his  secret  vanity,  Julie 
d'Estrelle  had  conquered  this  savage  nature.  He  con- 
sidered her  condescension  interested,  he  attributed  it 
entirely  to  her  need  of  money  ;  and  yet  the  irresistible 
grace  of  her  manner,  and  the  tone  of  unaffected  equality 
in  which  she  addressed  him,  had  flattered  him  as  he 
had  never  before  been  flattered  in  his  whole  life.  He 
resolved,  therefore,  that  he  would  pretend  to  feel  a  sort 
of  commiseration  for  Madam  Thierry.  He  was  really 
afraid  that  she  would  injure  him  in  Julie's  estimation, 
and  by  purchasing  the  house  at  Sevres  he  persuaded 
himself  that  he  would  force  his  enemy  to  treat  him  with 
respect,  since  she  would  naturally  imagine  that  he  in- 
tended to  confer  it  upon  Julien. 

Marcel,  in  the  meanwhile,  was  doing  his  best  to  free 
Madam  d'Estrelle  gradually  from  her  embarrassments. 
On  the  very  evening  of  her  visit  to  M.  Antoine,  he  went 
to  scold  her  for  her  rashness,  and  to  insist  that  she  should 
make  her  purchaser  pay  dearly  for  his  sugar-plum.  Ha 
found  her  but  little  inclined  to  enter  into  his  schemes. 

"  Do  what  you  please,  dear  M.  Thierry,"  she  said, 
^'  but  do  not  ask  my  assistance.     You  told  me  that  youi 


ANTONIA. 


55 


uncle  was  somewhat  vain,  that  I  could  easily  gain  an 
influence  over  him,  thanks  to  my  title,  and  might  lead 
him  to  ameliorate  his  sister-in-law's  misfortunes.  I  hast- 
ened to  try  my  power,  and  you  tell  me  that  you  hope 
something  from  my  efforts.  I  have  done  what  my  heart 
dictated,  but  do  not  talk  to  me  of  any  further  projects. 
Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  sell  this  pavilion  ?  You  told 
me  yourself  that  my  husband's  creditors,  since  I  hav6 
acquired  a  little  more  real  estate,  would  be  less  exacting ; 
that  the  marquis  would  never  allow  the  hotel  d'P^strclle 
to  be  sold ;  and  that,  for  some  time  at  least,  you  would 
allow  me  to  forget  my  troubles.  Keep  your  word  with 
me  !  Let  your  uncle  make  his  own  offer  for  the  pavilion, 
since  these  negotiations  will  give  me  an  excuse  for  plead- 
ing Madam  Thierry's  cause.  When  I  said  that  I  diO 
not  wish  her  to  be  dispossessed  of  her  lodging  against  liei 
will,  I  spoke  the  simple  truth,  and  I  assure  you  that  1 
shall  regret  exceedingly  to  have  her  leave  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

Marcel,  finding  that  he  could  not  change  her  resolution, 
took  his  leave.  He  stopped  at  the  pavilion,  and  told 
Madam  Thierry,  and  Julien,  who  was  also  present,  of  the 
efforts  that  the  generous  countess  had  made  in  their  be- 
half, and  the  kind  sentiments  with  which  she  regarded 
them. 

Madam  Thierry  was  so  touched,  that  she  could  not 
restrain  her  tears.  Julien  had  played  his  part  so  well, 
that  her  fears  in  regard  to  him  had  been  dissipated,  and, 
pouring  forth,  at  last,  the  gratitude  with  which  her  heart 
was  full,  and  which  she  had  with  difiiculty  repressed  for 
several  days,  she  broke  out  into  an  enthusiastic  eulogy  of 
Julie  d'Estrclle.  The  poor  mother,  therefore,  poured  oil 
herself  upon  the  flames. 

Still,  however,  from  moment  to  moment,  her  suspicions 
returned.  At  every  word  that  she  uttered  she  glanced 
stealthily  at  Julien,  to  see  how  he  received  her  remarks. 
His  perfect  self-possession  reassured  her,  until  a  sudden 
outbreak  revealed  his  true  state  of  feeling.  Madam 
Thierry  was  saying  to  Marcel  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
keep  the  countess  from  selling  the  pavilion,  and  would 


^6  ANTONIA. 

pretend  that  she  felt  no  regret  at  giving  up  her  lodging, 
when  Julien  interposed  vehemently : 

"  Move  again  ?  "  he  cried.  "  We  cannot  do  it.  We 
have  spent  too  much,  in  proportion  to  our  means,  in  get- 
ting established  here." 

*'  Your  uncle  will  provide  for  that,"  said  Marcel ;  "if 
he  forces  you  to  move,  I  will  do  my  best  to  extort  from 
him  —  " 

"  My  dear  friend,"  Julien  continued,  with  increased  ani- 
mation, "  your  zeal  and  goodness  are  incomparable  ;  but 
you  know  perfectly  well  that  my  mother  dislikes  to  have 
you  make  any  advances  to  uncle  Antoine.  All  that  you 
have  done  hitherto  has  been  against  her  will,  and  she 
v.ould  have  forbidden  you  positively  to  make  any  appeal 
to  him,  if  it  had  not  been  out  of  consideration  for  me. 
It  is  not  for  us  to  judge  whether  she  is  right  or  wrong  in 
detesting  him  as  she  does.  For  my  part,  I  should  have 
been  willing  to  make  all  possible  concessions,  even  if  I 
suffered  in  d-oing  so,  to  a  man  with  such  a  singular 
character ;  but  I  cannot  allow  my  mother's  pride  to  be 
wounded." 

"'  No,  no  !  I  have  no  pride,"  cried  Madam  Thierry  ;  "  I 
cast  my  pride  from  me,  Julien !  You  are  working  too 
much  ;  you  will  fall  ill  if  we  refuse  to  negotiate  with  M. 
Antoine.  Whatever  Marcel's  plans  may  be,  they  have 
my  approval ;  even  if  I  must  be  humiliated,  I  shall  be 
happy.  Let  us  do  our  duty  before  everything  else  :  let  us 
pay  our  debts.  We  will  tell  the  countess  that  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  indifference  to  us  whether  we  live  here  or  else- 
where, and  beg  her  to  conclude  the  sale  ;  and  let  Marcel 
say  to  M.  Thierry  that  we  demand  our  rights,  or  that  we 
implore  his  generosity.  I  am  willing  to  make  every  sac- 
rifice so  that  you  recover  your  repose  and  health." 

''  My  health  is  excellent,"  replied  Julien,  warmly ; 
"  and  my  repose  will  be  very  much  disturbed  by  moving 
again.     I  like  my  studio  ;  I  have  a  work  on  hand  — " 

''But  you  are  speaking  selfishly,  my  child !  You  do 
not  remember  that  this  lady  is  being  tormented  by  her 
creditors,  just  as  we  are,  and  even  more  than  we  are,  for 
the  present." 


ANTONIA. 


57 


"  And  you  think  M.  Antoine  will  relieve  hei  by  pur- 
chasing this  hovel  ?     Marcel  is  not  so  foolish  !  " 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Marcel,  *'  that  M.  Antoine  will 
submit  to  all  the  conditions  that  the  countess  may  choose 
to  impose  ;  he  will  pay  a  high  price  for  the  pavilion,  and 
will  not  compel  you  to  move.  Let  me  alone,  and  I  may, 
perhaps,  lead  him  to  do  something  still  better." 

"  What?"  said  Madame  Thierry. 

"  That  is  my  secret.  You  shall  know  about  it  later, 
if  I  do  not  fail." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  ! "  said  Madam  Thierry,  interrupting 
the  conversation,  "  I  have  forgotten  my  snuff-box ;  go 
and  bring  it  to  me,  Julien." 

Julien  went  up  stairs,  and  his  mother  took  advantage 
of  the  moment's  tete-a-tete  that  she  had  contrived  to  ob- 
tain with  Marcel,  to  say  quickly,  — 

"  Take  care,  my  dear  friend  !  We  are  threatened  with 
a  great  danger  :  Julien  is  in  love  with  the  countess." 

*^What  are  you  saying?"  cried  Marcel,  in  perfect 
amazement;  "you  are  dreaming,  my  good  aunt;  it  is 
impossible." 

"Speak  lower.  It  is  possible,  —  it  is  a  fact.  Do 
what  you  can  to  get  us  out  of  this  dangerous  abode. 
Find  some  means,  without  allowing  him  to  suspect  what 
1  have  told  you.  Save  him,  —  save  me  I  Silence,  —  he 
is  coming." 

Julieu  performed  his  errand  with  the  utmost  despatch. 
He  was  eager  to  take  part  again  in  the  conversation ;  but 
when  he  entered  the  room  he  noticed  that  his  mother 
looked  embarrassed,  and  that  Marcel  seemed  surprised 
and  troubled.  He  felt  that  his  secret  had  been  betrayed, 
and  immediately  assumed  an  air  of  cheerful  indifference 
that  no  longer  deceived  Madam  Thierry,  but  which  com- 
pletely reassured  the  lawyer.  The  latter  went  away 
promising  himself  that  he  would  sound  his  cousin  when  an 
opportunity  occurred,  but  persuaded  that  Madam  Thierry, 
agitated  by  the  events  of  the  last  few  days,  was  a  little 
out  of  her  mind. 

Marcel  soon  made  a  discovery  much  more  surprising 


58  ANTOMA, 

than  this,  —  so  surprising,  in  fact,  that  we  beg  our  readers 
to  prepare  themselves  for  it  a  little  in  advance. 

On  the  appointed  day,  uncle  Antoine  went  to  call  upon 
Madam  d'Estrelle.  He  found  her  simple  and  natural  as 
ever,  and  quite  as  charming,  —  perhaps  even  more  charm- 


mir 


05 


than  at  their  first  interview.  She  greeted  the  hor- 
ticulturist just  as  she  would  have  done  a  person  of  her 
own  class.  Unaccustomed  to  society,  but  endowed  with 
penetration,  he  felt  that  his  reception  was  perfect,  and 
that  he  had  never  been  treated  so  well  by  a  person  of  her 
social  position. 

He  saw,  also,  that  she  was  really  indifferent  to  the 
question  of  money.  It  was  evident  that  her  courtesy  had 
not  been  assumed  to  obtain  any  ulterior  object  whatever, 
—  even  that  of  reconciling  him  to  Madam  Thierry,  — 
since  she  expressed  her  desire  to  see  them  reconciled 
frankly  and  cordially. 

M.  Thierry  returned  from  this  interview  radiant  with 
a  delight  that  he  no  longer  took  any  pains  to  conceal. 
When  Marcel  saw  him,  he  was  obliged  to  confess  that,  in 
certain  cases,  straiglit forward  honesty  is  the  best  diplo- 
macy ;  and  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  had  done  more  for  her 
proteges  and  herself,  by  following  her  natural  instinct, 
than  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  been  more  artful. 

"•  Now  then,"  said  M.  Antoine,  "  we  must  settle  this 
matter  of  the  pavilion.  I  consider  it  worth  forty  thou- 
sand francs,  and  that  is  what  I  intend  to  pay  for  it.  I 
shall  want  to  enter  into  possession  immediately,  and  it  ig 
my  duty,  therefore,  to  meet  any  claims  that  Madam 
Thierry  may  urge.  I  don't  want  to  have  any  discussion 
with  that  woman.  Tell  her  that  I  release  her  from  the 
six  thousand  francs  for  which  I  am  security  ;  here  is  my 
receipt.  Furthermore,  if  she  requires  a  small  amount 
over  and  above  this,  to  defray  the  expenses  of  moving, 
she  shall  have  it.  Go,  and  don't  let  her  break  my  head 
any  longer  with  her  troubles.  In  the  first  place,  how- 
ever, take  my  offer,  —  which  I  think  is  very  generous,  — 
to  the  countess,  and  tell  her  of  my  promise  to  indemnify 
her  proteges,  according  to  her  wish." 

Marcel  was  amazed,  but  delighted.     He  carried   this 


ANTONIA. 


59 


good  news,  in  the  first  place,  to  Madam  Thierry,  who 
thanked  her  stars,  and  was  ready  to  bless  even  her 
brother-in-law,  she  was  so  grateful  to  him  for  forcing 
her  to  move  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  at  all  costs. 

Madam  d'Estrelle  was  not  so  well  pleased ;  she  had 
had  another  interview  with  the  amiable  widow,  she 
enjoyed  her  society  and  regretted  to  lose  it,  and  then  her 
delicacy  was  offended  by  M.  Antoine's  munificent  offer, 
which  seemed  to  her  the  ostentatious  folly  of  a  plebeian. 
She  felt  that  she  would  be  humiliated  by  accepting  it. 

"  He  will  think,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  been  ma- 
noeuvring to  induce  him  to  pay  this  extravagant  price, 
and  that  would  annoy  me  exceedingly.  No  indeed !  I 
shall  only  accept  half  that  he  offers ;  I  prefer  to  decline 
his  generosity,  and  retain  his  respect  and  my  influence, 
which  I  can  exert  in  favor  of  the  poor  Thierrys.  Tell 
him  the  price  of  the  pavilion  is  twenty  thousand  francs, 
and  that  I  ask,  furthermore,  the  continuation  of  his  sister- 
in-law's  lease." 

•■'  But  my  aunt  is  anxious  to  move,"  replied  Marcel ; 
"  you  must  remember  that  the  inducement  he  offers  is 
a  matter  of  great  importance." 

"  Then  say  nothing  about  her  affairs  in  my  name ; 
but  remember  that  my  dignity  is  intrusted  to  you,  and 
do  not  allow  it  to  be  compromised." 

This  reply,  transmitted  to  M.  Antoine,  led  to  an  ex- 
plosion by  which  the  lawyer  was  dumbfounded. 

"  So,"  cried  the  rich  man,  "  she  refuses  to  accept  a  favor 
from  me  ;  for,  knowing  her  embarassments,  I  was  going 
to  do  her  a  favor.  I  was  going  to  treat  her  like  a  friend, 
since  she  treated  me  like  one.  Ah !  you  see,  Marcel, 
she  is  scornful,  she  despises  me,  she  told  me  a  lie  when 
she  said  that  she  thought  higlily  of  me  !  Very  well, 
since  this  is  the  case,  I  will  be  revenged !  Yes,  cruelly 
revenged ;  she  shall  have  her  deserts  I  By  heavens,  I 
will  make  her  beg  my  help." 

The  face  of  the  extravagant  old  man  was  still  rather 
handsome,  and  at  this  moment  it  looked  unmistakably 
wicked.     Marcel  gazed  upon  him  in  silence. 


6o  ANTONIA. 

"What  is  this  new  mystery?"  he  said  to  himself, 
scrutinizing  his  uncle's  piercing  black  eyes,  flashing  with 
spite  and  indignation.  "  Can  wounded  vanity  culminate 
in  delirium?  Is  my  uncle  losing  his  senses?  Has  the 
abstracted,  solitary,  monotonous  life  that  he  has  led  so 
long,  been  too  much  for  him?  Will  the  rage  that  he 
constantly  expresses  against  all  the  feelings  that  warm 
and  illumine  the  heart,  lead,  in  the  long  run,  to  insanity?  " 

Antoine,  without  noticing  Marcel's  scrutiny,  continued 
vehemently,  — 

"  I  understand  what  you  are  all  about !  You  want 
Madam  Thierry  to  get  the  benefit  of  my  generosity. 
Now,  for  my  part,  I  have  not  the  least  idea  of  making 
a  fool  of  myself  for  the  sake  of  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil. 
For  a  long  time  I  have  ceased  to  feel  either  hatred  or 
friendship  for  that  person.  Let  her  go  to  the  devil,  —  I 
never  want  to  hear  her  spoken  of  again.  I  will  pay  forty 
thousand  francs  for  the  pavilion,  or  I  will  not  purchase  it. 
That  is  my  final  decision." 

The  affair  remained  in  this  state  for  several  days. 
Madam  d'Estrelle  laughed  good-humoredly  at  what  she 
considered  the  old  plebeian's  fit  of  insanity,  while  the  lat- 
ter, unknown  to  Marcel,  acted  as  if  his  madness  had 
reached  a  climax. 

Purchasing  secretly  the  claims  of  all  the  creditors  who 
were  threatening  the  widow  of  the  Count  d'Estrelle,  he 
put  himself  into  a  position  that  would  enable  him, — 
according  to  her  conduct  to  him,  —  to  destroy,  or  restore 
her  to  prosperity.  Under  a  fictitious  name  he  purchased, 
also,  the  house  at  Sevres,  with  all  its  rich  and  precious 
furniture,  and  put  it  under  the  charge  of  a  housekeeper. 
All  this  was  accomplished  in  a  short  time,  and  with  great 
expenditure.  Finally,  one  day,  having  found  out  from 
Marcel  about  the  intimate  friends  of  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
he  went  to  call  upon  the  Baroness  d'Ancourt.  The 
baroness  received  him  in  great  state,  but  deigned,  never- 
theless, to  listen  to  him  attentively,  when  she  learned  that 
he  had  come  to  enable  her  to  save  Madam  d'Estrelle  from 
certain  ruin. 

Their   conversation  was  long  and  mysterious.       The 


ANTONIA.  6 1 

servants  of  the  hotel  d'Ancourt  were  very  much  puzzled 
at  this  confereuce  between  their  haughty  mistress  aud  a 
sort  of  presuming  peasant,  and  still  more  so  at  the 
nature  of  the  interview.  Now  the  resounding  voice  of 
the  baroness  was  heard  breaking  suddenly  forth,  and 
then  the  harsh  voice  of  her  rustic  visitor ;  they  were 
quarrelling,  in  short,  and  their  dispute  was  interrupted 
with  bursts  of  merriment  or  mockery ;  for  the  baroness 
laughed,  at  moments,  so  as  to  shake  the  glasses. 

An  hour  after,  the  baroness  hastened  to  call  upou 
Madam  d'Estrelle. 

^'  My  dear,"  she  said,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  I  bring 
you  five  millions,  or  misery ;  —  choose." 

"  Ah  !  an  old  husband,  is  it  not  so  ?  "  said  Julie  ;  "  you 
keep  to  your  idea." 

''  A  very  old  husband  ;  but  five  millions  !  " 

"And  a  great  name,  undoubtedly?" 

"  No  name  at  all !  —  a  thorough  plebeian  ;  but  five  mil- 
lions, Julie  I  " 

"  An  honest  man,  at  least?" 

"  He  is  considered  so  ;  have  you  decided?" 

"Yes,  I  refuse  him!  "Would  not  you  do  the  same? 
Would  you  respect  me  if  I  should  do  otherwise  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  you  would  say  so.  I  ordered  him  out 
of  the  house.  I  made  fun  of  him.  He  replied,  obstinately, 
*  Five  millions,  madam,  five  millions  ! '  " 

"  And  he  convinced  you,  since  you  have  come  to 
me  I" 

"  Convinced  or  not,  I  was  surprised,  dazzled ;  I  said, 
like,  the  queen,  '  You  urge  me  so  strongly.' " 

"  Then  you  advise  me  to  say  yes?" 

"  Do  not  say  yes,  say  perhaps^  and  reflect ;  I  will  re- 
flect also,  for,  at  this  moment,  my  head  is  not  clear. 
These  millions  have  intoxicated  me.  What  would  you 
have?  The  man  is  old,  —  in  a  little  while  you  will  be 
free :  people  will  stop  crying  out  against  the  mesalli- 
ance !  besides,  every  one  knows  that  you,  yourself,  are 
not  noble.  You  can  open  drawing-rooms  that  will  dazzle 
all  Paris,  and  all  Paris  will  rush  to  your  fetes  ;  for,  when 
all  is  said,  Paris  has  but  one   idea :  to  seek  amusement, 


62  ANTONIA. 

and  go  where  it  is  to  be  fotmd.  You  can  give  balls,  con- 
certs, private  theatricals  ;  can  fill  your  rooms  with  artists, 
beautiful  singers,  fine  talkers,  brilliant  people,  in  short, 
able  to  entertain  and  amuse  the  stupid  aristocrats.  Ah  ! 
if  I  had  five  millions,  —  if  I  had  only  two,  —  I  should 
know  what  to  do  with  them !  Come,  do  not  think  me 
a  fool,  and  do  not  be  a  coward.  Accept  vulgarity  and 
opulence." 

"  And  the  old  age  of  the  husband?" 

"  A  reason  the  more  !  " 

Julie  was  indi^niant  and  Amelie  excited ;  they  quar- 
relled. Madam  d'Ancourt  did  not  tell  her  the  name  of 
her  suitor,  and  Julie  did  not  think  to  inquire.  Fearing 
that  her  impetuous  friend  might  compromise  her  by 
allowing  her  protege  to  hope,  she  commissioned  Marcel 
to  find  out  w^ho  he  was,  and  tell  him  plainly  of  her  re- 
fusal. Marcel  went  to  Madam  d'Ancourt  to  learn  the 
name  of  the  millionaire. 

"Ah,  she  has  reconsidered  her  decision?"  cried  the 
baroness. 

''  No,  madam,  quite  the  contrary." 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  not  know  his  name.  I  promised 
on  my  honor  not  to  reveal  it,  in  case  he  was  rejected." 

Marcel  went  to  the  hotel  Melcy.  He  suspected  the 
truth,  but  had  said  nothing  to  the  countess,  for  he 
feared,  with  good  reason,  that  she  would  reproach  him 
for  having  introduced  her  to  an  insane  old  man.  Besides, 
Marcel  valued  his  uncle's  fortune  only  at  two  millions,  — 
tliis  was  all  that  he  claimed  to  be  worth ;  and  still  felt 
doubtful,  therefore,  as  to  whether  he  really  was  the  per- 
son in  question.  He  was  in  a  measure  misled  by  the 
five  millions  that  had  been  dinned  into  Julie's  ears  as 
the  amount  of  her  suitor's  fortune. " 

'^  So,  uncle,"  he  said,  abruptly,  as  soon  as  he  entered, 
"you  are  worth  five  millions?" 

"Why  not  thirty?"  said  the  old  man,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.     "Have  you  gone  crazy?" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Marcel  teased  him  with  questions ; 
his  uncle  remained  impenetrable.  A  great  event  had 
just  occurred  in  his  establishment,  that  had  really  di- 


ANTONIA. 


63 


verted  his  mind  from  his  dreams  of  marriage,  so  that  it 
was  more  easy  for  liim  to  conceal  the  truth.  The  mys- 
terious lily  that  he  had  so  often  contemplated,  watched, 
watered,  and  tended,  —  the  flower  that  was  to  bear  his 
name,  —  during  the  last  few  days  of  neglect  and  abandon- 
ment had  suddenly  put  forth  a  vigorous  shoot,  already 
covered  with  well-swollen  buds.  One  of  these  buds  was 
already  partly  open,  and  within  the  calyx  could  be  seen 
silken  petals  of  incomparable  beauty,  —  white,  lustrous, 
and  spotted  with  a  brilliant  rose.  The  horticulturist  was 
beside  himself  with  joy.  Animated,  almost  consoled  for 
his  matrimonial  mishaps,  he  walked  up  and  down  his 
greenhouse  in  a  great  state  of  agitation,  or  paused  to 
watch  the  opening  of  his  flower,  while  he  cried,  again 
and  again,  — 

"  This  shall  be  the  one  !  This  shall  be  the  one  !  I 
am  settled.  This  shall  be  the  Antonia  Thierrii;  and  all 
he  amateurs  of  Europe,  if  they  choose,  may  burst  with 
rage." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Marcel  to  himself,  "I  am 
more  in  doubt  than  ever.  Is  it  with  the  Antonia  or 
with  the  countess  that  my  uncle  is  in  love?" 


III. 


''  I  ^11 E  vanity  of  the  horticulturist  had  resumed  its 
-*•  sway  over  Autoine's  mind.  Seeing  this,  and  reflect- 
ing that  be  might  turn  his  uncle's  enthusiasm  to  account 
for  the  benefit  of  his  proteges.  Marcel  bestowed  the 
greatest  praise  upon  the  Antonia. 

"  You  intend,  I  suppose,  to  send  it  to  the  Jar  din  des 
Boi,"  he  said.  **  The  botanists  there  ought  to  feel  a 
great  esteem  for  you." 

"  They  will  count  upon  this  one  in  vain,"  replied  M. 
Antoine.  "  They  may  look  at  it  until  they  are  tired,  de- 
scribe it  in  their  beautiful  language,  give  a  scientific 
account  of  it,  as  they  say ;   but  the  specimen  is  unique. 


64  ANTONIA. 

and  I  shall  not  part  from  it  until  I  have  a  number  of 
offshoots.'* 

"  But  if  it  dies  without  propagating? " 

*'  My  name  will  live  in  the  catalogues,  even  then." 

"  That  is  not  enough  !  If  I  were  you,  I  would  have 
it  painted,  to  provide  against  accidents." 

''How  painted?  Do  people  paint  flowers  nowadays? 
Oh,  I  understand !  you  mean  that  I  ought  to  have  its 
portrait  taken?  I  have  thought  about  that  with  my 
other  rare  plants  ;  but  I  had  quarrelled  with  my  brother, 
and  the  other  painters  whom  I  employed  were  fools ; 
their  daubs  never  satisfied  me.  I  paid  them  a  high  price 
for  their  work,  and  afterwards  cut  up  the  canvas,  or  tore 
the  paper." 

"  Did  you  never  think  of  Julien?" 

"  Bah  !  Julien,  —  an  apprentice  !  " 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  any  of  his  work?  " 

•'No,  faith,  nothing." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  bring  you  —  ?" 

"  No,  nothing,  I  tell  you.     We  have  quarrelled." 

"  Not  at  all.  lie  has  called  upon  you  regularly  every 
year,  on  the  first  of  January,  and  you  have  always  been 
pleased  with  him." 

"That  is  true.  He  has  been  well  brought  up,  he 
is  quite  sensible,  and  is  good-looking.  But,  since  I 
refused  to  advance  the  money  to  purchase  the  house  at 
Sevres  —  " 

"  Julien  has  never  blamed  you,  or  uttered  a  discon- 
tented word  on  the  subject.  I  can  assure  of  you  that, 
upon  my  honor." 

"  That  may  be  true,  and  yet  he  may  not  have  the 
necessary  talent  —  " 

"  Hold !  a  small  specimen  will  do  as  well  as  a  large 
one.     Take  your  magnifying-glass,  and  look  at  this." 

Marcel  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pretty  little  shell  snuff- 
box, with  a  bouquet  painted  upon  it  in  miniature,  by 
Julien,  Although  this  was  not  his  style,  he  had  copied 
one  of  his  pictures  on  this  microscopic  scale,  so  as  to 
make  this  present  to  Marcel ;  and  the  little  painting  was 
a  veritable  chef  d'oeuvre. 


ANTONIA.  ^3 

Uncle  A  nioine  was  too  ignorant  of  art  to  appreciate  its 
real  merit ;  but  he  understood  the  anatomy  of  every  part 
of  a  plant  as  well  as  the  most  thorough  botanist,  and 
if  his  magnifying-glass  did  not  enable  him  to  count  the 
stamens  of  every  flower,  and  the  nerves  of  every  leaf, 
it  proved  to  him,  at  least,  that  the  artist,  in  sacrificing 
details  to  produce  his  general  effect,  had  not  sinned  against 
nature  ;  that  he  had  not  been  led  astray  by  any  error, 
fancy,  or  heresy,  contradicting  the  inviolable  laws  of 
creation. 

After  examining  it  for  a  long  time,  he  asked,  inge- 
nuously, whether  Julien  could  paint  as  large  as  life ; 
and,  when  Marcel  replied  in  the  affirmative,  decided  that 
he  would  let  him  take  the  portrait  of  the  Antonia 
Thierrii.  He  added,  however,  that  he  would  require 
him  to  work  under  his  own  eyes,  so  that  he  might  watch 
over  him,  and  see  that  he  was  exact  in  the  most  minute 
details. 

"  I  know  what  these  painters  are  !  "  he  said  ;  "  they 
want  to  interpret,  —  they  want  to  do  better  than  nature. 
They  must  have  their  atmosphere^  lights  effect  I  Oh,  I 
remember  all  their  stupid^words !  If  Julien  will  be 
obedient,  both  of  us  together,  perhaps,  may  succeed  in 
producing  something  really  beautiful.  Go  and  tell  him 
wliat  I  want,  and  let  him  hold  himself  in  readiness  to 
pass  an  hour  here  day  after  to-morrow ;  it  will  be  in 
full  bloom  by  that  time." 

Marcel  went  to  consult  Julien,  and  returned  to  tell 
Antoine  that  the  artist  would  require  two  days,  at  least, 
for  studying  his  model,  and  that  he  could  not  allow  him 
to  see  his  sketches  until  they  were  completed,  when  he 
would  be  willing  to  submit  them  to  him  and  make  such 
alteration  as  he  desired,  if  he  did  not  find  them  satisfac- 
tory. 

''  He  is  very  proud,"  said  uncle  Antoine,  impatiently  ; 
"look  at  that,  —  he  is  already  making  difficulties  just 
like  his  father.  Does  he  suppose  I  am  asking  him  to 
paint  the  flower  as  a  favor  ?  I  intend  to  pay  him,  and 
will  pay  as  high  a  price  as  any  one,  no  matter  who. 
Pray  wluit  is  a  day  of  this  gentleman's  labor  worth  ?  " 
5 


66  ANTONIA. 

"  He  does  not  ask  you  to  pay  him.  If  you  are  pleaset*. 
with  what  he  does,  he  will  ask  your  patronage." 

"It  is  easy  to  know  what  that  means ;  he  v/ill  ask 
me  —  " 

"  Nothing  at  all.  You  shall  settle  the  matter  yourself. 
Every  one  knows  that  you  are  generous  when  you  do  not 
dislike  people,  and  you  will  not  dislike  Julien  when  you 
know  him  better." 

''Very  well;  let  him  come  immediately,  —  let  him 
begin." 

"  No,  he  is  very  busy  to-day  ;  he  will  give  you  several 
hours,  to  begin  with,  to-morrow." 

The  next  day,  in  fact,  Julien  began  to  study  the  plant, 
and  made  several  sketches,  presenting  it  under  different 
aspects.  M.  Antoine,  faithful  to  their  agreement,  did  not 
see  these  sketches  until  the  artist  submitted  them  to  him. 
He  was  more  pleased  than  he  cared  to  acknowled^^e. 
This  conscientious  manner  of  studying  its  structure  and 
attitude  surprised  and  delighted  him.  Julien  talked  very 
little  ;  he  looked  constantly  at  his  model,  and  he  looked  at 
it  with  real  artistic  enthusiasm,  as  if  he  loved  it  pas:^ion- 
ately.  The  horticulturist  began  immediately  to  feel  a  son 
of  respect  for  him,  and,  as  Madam  Thierry  had  nevei 
told  her  son  of  her  brother-in-law's  foolish  conduct,  as 
nothing  in  the  face  or  manner  of  the  young  man  indicated 
that  he  regarded  his  uncle  with  the  least  aversion,  An- 
toine, who  felt  a  real  need  of  forming  some  human  ties,  — 
a  necessity  that  had  increased  in  proportion  with  his 
vanity,  —  conceived  for  him  (if  we  may  say  so)  a  sort 
of  blind  and  unconscious  friendship. 

On  the  second  day  Julien  began  to  paint ;  his  uncle 
could  no  longer  follow  the  progress  that  he  was  mak- 
ing, and  became  uneasy.  It  was  much  worse  when 
Julien  declared  that  he  must  finish  the  painting  in  his 
studio,  where  the  light  was  arranged  to  suit  him,  and 
w^iere  he  had  a  number  of  little  objects,  all  of  which  he 
could  not  remember  to  bring  with  him,  and  which  he 
wanted  to  use.  It  was  quite  a  distance  from  the  pavilion 
to  the  hotel  Melcy,  and,  on  the  next  day,  they  would  have 
no  time  to  lose  in  coming  and  going ;  he  would  have  to 


ANTONIA,  67 

seize  the  expression  of  the  plant  on  the  wing,  when  it  was 
in  full  bloom. 

But  the  model  might  be  injured  by  being  moved  ;  the 
flower  might  wither  prematurely,  the  stalk  might  be  weak- 
ened, its  freshness  might  be  tarnished!  The  artist  was 
firm,  and  uncle  Antoine  resolved  that  he  would  carry  his 
precious  Antonia  to  the  studio  himself,  even  at  the  risk 
of  meeting  Madam  Thierry,  and  being  forced  to  bow  to 
lier. 

Julien,  in  compelling  his  uncle  to  make  this  hard  sacri- 
fice, had  not  yielded  to  the  petty  caprice  of  a  fanciful 
artist.  He  had  followed  the  advice  of  Marcel,  who  was 
anxious  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  between  the  op- 
posing members  of  the  family  ;  and  who,  as  he  could  not 
persuade  Madam  Thierry  to  make  any  advances,  thought 
I  lie  best  plan  would  be  to  surprise  her  by  a  chance  inter- 
view with  her  enemy. 

We  have  represented  Madam  Thierry  as  perfect, — 
and  she  really  was  about  as  perfect  as  a  human  being 
can  be;  —  still,  however,  she  had  one  little  fault.  Al- 
though free  from  coquetry,  from  vanity,  and  from  the 
weakness  of  thinking  herself  young,  she  had  never  really 
said  to  herself,  "  I  am  old."  What  woman  of  her  time 
was  more  sensible  and  clear-sighted?  Her  youth  had 
bloomed  perennially  in  madrigals,  gallant  speeches,  and 
delicate  attentions.  She  had  been  so  pretty,  and  was  so 
well-preserved !  Her  husband,  although  he  had  ruined 
her  by  his  imprudence,  had  been  in  love  with  her  up  to 
his  last  day  ;  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  this  old  couple 
had  been  destined  to  bring  Philemon  and  Baucis  to  life 
again.  As  she  had  never  ceased  to  hear  that  she  was 
still  charming,  —  relatively  to  her  age  this  was  perfectly 
true,  —  good  Madam  Thierry  had  never  ceased  to  feel 
like  and  consider  herself  a  woman,  and,  after  a  laspe 
of  forty  years,  she  had  not  forgotten  how  deeply  her 
pride  and  dignity  had  been  wounded  by  the  pretensions 
of  the  ship-owner.  This  rude  man,  who  had  had  the 
audacity  to  say  to  her,  "  Look  at  me.  I  am  rich  ;  you 
can  love  me  instead  of  my  brother,"  had  caused  her  the 
only  real  mortification  to  which  she  had  been  exposed 


68  ANT  ON  I  A. 

in  consequence  of  her  elopement,  which  the  world,  at  the 
time,  had  considered  an  unpardonable  imprudence.  Id 
after  years  her  beauty,  agreeable  manners,  and  noble 
character,  had  caused  her  to  be  sought  by  her  husband's 
admirers.  She  had  been  able  to  lift  her  head,  to  triumph 
over  prejudices,  and  had  occupied  an  exceptional  and 
enviable  position  in  public  opinion.  She  had  been  un- 
usually happy,  therefore ;  but  never  had  she  forgotten 
this  one  insult,  nor  could  she  think  of  it  without  bitter- 
ness. It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been  contami- 
nated once  in  her  life,  by  the  offers  and  hopes  of  M. 
Antoine. 

Marcel  could  not  penetrate  these  subtle,  feminine  senti- 
ments. He  imagined  that  time  must  have  taught  Madam 
Thierry  to  smile  at  this  ridiculous  adventure,  and  that 
slie  had  been  perfectly  sincere  in  declaring  her  readiness 
to  pardon  the  past,  so  as  to  obtain  the  favor  of  their  rich 
relative  for  Julien. 

Julien  was  not  a  man  to  covet  his  uncle  Antoine's 
wealth.  He  had  never  said  to  himself  that,  if  he  would 
consent  to  flatter  him,  he  might  look  forward  to  becoming 
his  principal  heir.  For  a  long  time  he  had  refused  to 
ask  him  the  slightest  favor  ;  but  he  longed  to  recover  for 
his  mother  the  house  where  she  had  been  so  happy,  and 
this  desire  had  conquered  his  pride.  He  had  resolved 
to  devote  his  life,  if  necessary,  to  paying  his  debts,  and 
no  longer  blushed  at  Marcel's  efforts  to  persuade  Antoine 
to  advance  the  necessary  funds. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  saw  his  uncle  nearing  the 
house,  Julien  reproached  himself  for  having  deceived 
his  mother.  He  feared  that  the  surprise  would  be  too 
much  for  her,  and,  at  the  last  moment,  tried  to  pre- 
pare her  for  what  she  had  to  expect.  Madam  Thierry 
did  not  lose  couraue  ;  but,  as  soon  as  she  had  bowed 
to  M.  Antoine,  she  made  some  excuse  for  going  to  her 
room,  and  there  she  remained.  It  seemed  to  her  impos- 
sible to  endure  the  presence  of  this  disagreeable  person- 
age. Antoine,  who  had  not  seen  her  for  forty  years,  did 
not  recognize  her  at  first,  and  was  not  sufficiently  self- 
possessed  to  apologize  for  his  forge tfulness.     There  was 


ANTONIA.  69 

a  gate  opening  from  his  garden  into  the  rue  de  Babylone, 
quite  near  the  pavilion,  and  he  had  taken  this  path  to 
the  studio.  Unwilling  to  let  any  one  touch  his  variegated 
lily,  he  had  brought  it  himself.  He  placed  it  himself 
upon  the  table  of  the  little  studio,  he  took  off  the  great 
horn  of  white  paper  protecting  it,  and,  when  the  artist 
began  to  work,  took  up  a  newspaper  which  Madam 
d'Estrelle  sent  to  Madam  Thierry  every  morning,  and 
fell  asleep  over  it  in  a  corner  of  the  studio. 

Julien  was  expecting  Marcel,  who  had  promised  to 
try  and  bring  about  the  proposed  reconciliation ;  but 
Marcel,  detained  by  business,  did  not  arrive.  Madam 
Tliierry  did  not  appear.  Julien  felt  that  he  could  not 
break  the  ice  without  the  help  of  his  cousin :  he  did  not 
say  a  word,  therefore ;  he  worked,  did  his  best,  and 
thought  of  Julie. 

Uncle  Antoine  was  only  asleep  with  half  an  eye.  In 
the  house  of  the  woman  he  hated,  and  so  near  the  hotel 
d'Estrelle,  the  abode  of  his  new  fancy,  he  felt  restless, 
disturbed,  agitated  ;  he  was  more  troubled  than  he  would 
have  cared  to  confess.  He  got  up,  walked  to  and  fro, 
with  his  creaking  boots ;  sat  down  again,  and  finally, 
forgetting  his  lily  for  a  moment,  began  to  talk  to  Julien. 

*'  How  about  your  work,"  he  said  ;  "  have  you  a  great 
deal  to  do?" 

**  A  great  deal,"  replied  Julien. 

''  Do  people  pay  you  well?" 

"  Quite  well ;  I  have  no  cause  to  complain." 

"  How  much  do  you  earn  a  day?  " 

*'  A  dozen  francs  or  so,"  said  Julien,  smiling. 

"  That  is  very  little ;  but  your  father  made  still  less 
at  your  age,  and  I  suppose  you  will  increase  your  price 
from  year  to  year." 

*  I  hope  and  intend  to  do  so." 

"  You  are  prudent  and  systematic,  I  am  told." 

*'  Yes,  uncle  ;  I  am  obliged  to  be  so." 
Do  you  go  much  into  society  ?  " 


(( 


''  I  have  no  lime  to  go."  / 

"  You  know,  however,  persons  of  good  family? 

*'  My  father's  friends  have  not  forgotten  me." 


70  ANTONIA. 

"  You  sometimes  return  their  visits?" 

"  Very  seldom,  and  only  when  necessary." 

"  How  about  the  Baroness  d'Ancourt,  —  do  you  know 
her?" 

"  Merely  by  name,  —  nothing  more." 

"  She  is  a  friend  of  Madam  d'Estrelle  ?  ** 

"  I  have  ho  idea." 

"But  you  must  know  Madam  d'Estrelle?" 

"No,  uncle." 

*'  Have  you  never  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Never." 

Julien  uttered  this  lie  courageously.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  every  one  was  trying  to  find  out  his  secret,  and  he 
had  resolved  to  hide  it  with  the  most  savage  resolution. 

"  That  is  curious,"  said  uncle  Antoine,  who,  perhaps, 
really  did  feel  some  suspicion  upon  this  point,  if  only  to 
be  true  to  his  habit  of  suspecting  every  one ;  "  your 
mother  spends  hours,  whole  days,  they  say,  in  her  gar- 
den, and  even  in  her  drawing-room,  and  you  —  " 

"  I  am  not  my  mother." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  not  noble." 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  not  of  an  age  to  seek  the  acquaint 
ance  of  a  lady  who  is  living  secluded,  and  who  only 
receives  visits  from  elderly  persons." 

"  You  regret  very  much,  no  doubt,  that  you  are  too 
young  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  like  very  much  to  be  young,  I  can 
assure  you,"  said  Julien,  laughing  at  his  uncle*s  whim- 
sical reflections. 

Antoine,  defeated,  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room  again,  with  short,  jerking  steps  ;  again  he  paused, 
and  said  to  Julien,  — 

"  How  much  longer  will  you  have  to  work?  " 

"  Two  or  three  hours." 

"  Can  I  look  at  the  picture?" 

"  If  you  choose." 

"  Ah  ah  ! "  he  cried,  "  that  is  not  so  bad  ;  that  begins 
to  look  like  something  ;  but  you  are  painting  all  the  back- 
gi'ound,  —  where  will  you  put  the  name  of  the  flower  ? 
i  want  it  in  large  gilt  letters." 


ANTONIA.  71 

"  Then  it  must  not  be  put  auy  where  ;  it  would  spoil  the 
effect." 

•"^  You  don't  say  so  !     I  must  have  my  name,  though  !  '* 

"  Put  it  in  large,  black  letters,  upon  a  medallion  in 
relief,  above  or  below  the  gilt  frame." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,  upon  my  word  !  Make  a  chef- 
d'oeuvre,  and  I  will  invite  you  to  the  ceremony  of  tho 
baptism." 

"  Bah,  a  ceremony  ! " 

"  Yes  ;  the  botanists  of  the  Jar  din  du  Box  are  going  to 
breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning.  I  have  invited 
them,  and  they  have  accepted.  I  am  going  to  have  a 
sort  of  fete  ;  and,  as  it  tires  me  to  sit  here  with  my  arms 
crossed,  doing  nothing,  I  will  return  to  my  house  and  see 
how  things  are  going  on.  Take  care  of  my  lily  ;  don't 
let  yourself  be  disturbed  ;  work  without  stopping  ;  I  will 
return  in  an  hour." 

Julien  was  working  now  with  enthusiasm  and  rapidity  ; 
every  stroke  of  his  pencil  seemed  to  transfer  the  life  of 
the  wonderful  plant  to  the  canvas.  Uncle  Antoine  was 
struck  by  his  aspect ;  he  smiled,  and,  becoming  a  little 
humanized,  tapped  the  young   man  upon  the  shoulder, 

''  Courage,  my  lad,  courage !  Satisfy  me,  and  you 
will  have  no  cause  to  regret  it." 

He  went  out ;  but,  instead  of  returning  to  his  garden, 
went  mechanically  to  the  hotel  d'Estrelle.  Solitude, 
wealth,  ennui  and  vanity,  had  weakened  and  half-mad- 
dened the  old  man's  mind,  and  a  world  of  confused  ideas, 
—  cheerful,  gloomy,  and  audacious,  —  were  whirling 
wildly  through  his  brain. 

*'  I  was  wrong,"  he  said,  *'  to  confide  my  suit  to  that 
foolish  baroness.  She  performed  her  part  badly,  and 
did  not  even  mention  my  name  I  She  said  that  I  was  an  old 
plebeian,  and  that  was  all ;  the  little  countess  never  im- 
agined that  the  person  referred  to  was  a  well-preserved 
man  whom  she  herself  had  praised  for  his  good  health 
and  good  looks,  —  a  man  whom  she  knows  to  be  generous 
and  great,  and  whose  talents  as  an  agricultural  amateur 
and  producer  of  rare  plants  are  not  to  be  despised.      I 


72 


ANTQNIA. 


must  end  the  affair  one  way  or  the  other :  I  will  offef 
myself,  and  find  out  whether  I  am  to  love  or  hate  her." 

He  entered  the  hotel  boldly,  and  asked  to  speak  to 
the  countess  on  business.  She  hesitated  for  a  moment 
whether  to  admit  him.  Knowing  that  he  was  whim- 
sical, and  thinkini^  him  a  monomaniac,  she  would  have 
preferred  to  have  Marcel  present  at  the  interview.  But 
she  knew  how  sensitive  her  old  neighbor  was,  and, 
fearing  that  she  might  injure  Madam  Thierry's  interests 
by  offending  him,  allowed  him  to  enter.  Madam  d'Es- 
trelle  was  alone ;  but  she  would  have  considered  it 
absurdly  prudish  to  feel  alarmed  about  a  tete-a-tete 
with  an  old  man,  well  known  for  the  austerity  of  his 
manners. 

The  rich  man  had  called  upon  her  prepared  for  battle ; 
he  imagined  that  he  would  have  to  fight  to  obtain  an  in- 
terview. When  he  found,  on  the  contary,  that  he  was 
admitted  without  opposition,  after  two  minutes  delay, 
when  he  saw  that  his  beautiful  neighbor  received  him 
kindly  and  affably,  although  with  a  little  reserve,  his 
courage  abandoned  him.  Like  all  people  who  live  in 
the  world  of  their  own  thoughts,  unchecked  and  uncon- 
trolled, no  one  could  be  bolder  in  forming  plans.  It  was 
his  audacity  that  had  enriched  him,  and  he  confided  in  it. 

But,  as  he  had  always  acted  from  behind  a  curtain  as 
it  were,  he  was  as  incapable  of  taking  a  step  upon  the 
stage  of  social  life,  or  of  conversing  with  a  woman,  as 
he  would  have  been  of  commanding  a  ship,  or  conduct- 
ing negotiations  with  the  Algonquins.  He  grew  pale, 
stammered,  put  his  hat  on  after  taking  it  off,  and,  in 
siiort,  was  so  agitated,  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  felt  sur- 
prised and  distressed,  and  was  obliged  to  come  to  his 
assistance  by  referring  at  once  to  the  subject  which  she 
supposed  to  be  the  object  of  his  visit. 

''  So,  my  neighbor,"  she  said  kindly,  "  we  are  at  odds 
about  this  unfortunate  pavilion,  which  I  had  hoped 
would  be  the  means  of  bringing  us  to  a  good  under- 
standing and  making  us  friends.  Do  you  know  that 
1  feel  like  scolding  you,  and  that  I  consider  you  very 
unreasonable  ?  " 


ANTONIA.  73 

"  Oh,  it  is  well  known  that  I  am  a  fool,"  replied  An- 
toine,  morosely  ;  "  I  hear  it  so  often  that  I  shall  end  by 
believing  it." 

*'  I  only  ask  to  be  undeceived,"  replied  Julie  ;  "  can  you 
give  me  any  good  reason  for  accepting  the  sort  of  present 
that  you  offer  me  ?     I  defy  you  to  do  so  !  " 

"  You  defy  me  ?  Then  you  want  me  to  speak.  The 
reason  is  clear  enough,  —  I  feel  an  interest  in  you  !  " 

"•  You  are  very  good,"  said  Julie,  with  a  smile,  in 
which  there  was  a  touch  of  irony,  "  but  —  " 

"  It  is  just  so,  countess  ;  you  are  a  person  that  one  can- 
not help  thinking  about,  and  so  I  thought  about  you,  — 
what  the  devil  would  you  have  ?  I  said  to  myself,  '  It  is 
a  pity  that  a  person  so,  —  a  lady  who,  —  a  person  of 
good  family,  in  a  word,  should  be  in  the  hands  of  the 
bailiffs.  I  am  only  a  plebeian,  but  I  am  not  such  a  miser 
as  the  fine  gentlemen  and  the  fine  ladies  of  her  family.* 
That  is  why  I  said  what  I  did  say  ;  but  you  misunderstood 
it  all,  which  proves  that  you  despise  me." 

*'  You  are  mistaken  in  that !  "  cried  the  countess  ;  "de- 
spise you  for  wanting  to  do  a  good  action  ?  No  !  a  hun- 
dred times  no  !     It  would  be  impossible." 

"  Then  why  refuse  my  offer?  " 

"  Listen  to  me.  Monsieur  Thierry ;  will  you  give  me 
your  word  of  honor  as  an  honest  man  that  you  are  per- 
fectly convinced  of  the  sincerity,  — the  personal  disinter- 
estedness, —  of  my  conduct  towards  you?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor.  The 
devil !  do  you  suppose,  otherwise,  that  I  should  ever  have 
come  to  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  I  accept  your  offer,"  said  Julie,  holding 
out  her  hand  ;  "  but  upon  one  condition,  — that  you  will 
give  me  back  your  friendship." 

Old  Antoine  was  completely  beside  himself  when  he  felt 
this  little  soft  hand  in  his  hard,  dry  palm.  He  had  a  sort 
of  vertigo  ;  and,  as  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  this 
woman's  hand,  —  to  kiss  it  he  would  have  thought  an  im- 
propriety, and  he  dared  not  press  it,  —  he  let  it  drop,  and 
stammered  out  his  thanks  in  a  very  confused  manner,  but 
with  heartfelt  emotion. 


74  ANTONIA. 

"  Since  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  conferring  a  favor 
upon  you,"  said  Madam  d*Estrelle,  "  I  warn  you  that 
I  shall  become  exacting.  I  really  need  only  twenty  thou- 
sand francs  for  the  present ;  let  me  offer  the  other  twenty 
thousand  from  you  to  Madam  Thierry." 

"  No,  no  !  it  cannot  be  ! "  said  Antoine,  losing  his  tem- 
per ;  "  she  would  refuse.  That  woman  detests  me  !  I 
have  just  paid  her  a  visit.  She  turned  her  back  upon  me, 
and  went  and  hid  in  her  garret." 

*'  You  must  have  wronged  her  in  some  way,  my  neigh- 
bor?" 

"  Never !  If  she  tries  to  make  you  think  otherwise,— 
let  her  say  what  she  chooses,  —  I  am  an  honest  man." 

"  She  has  never  said  otherwise." 

"  Has  she  never  spoken  to  you  about  me  ?  Come  now, 
—  tell  me  the  truth,  —  upon  your  honor." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  never  ! " 

"  Then,  — stop  a,  moment !  — tell  her  to  respect  me  as 
she  ought,  and  don't  talk  about  giving  her  money  that 
belongs  to  you  ;  for,  —  the  devil  take  me,  —  if  you  make 
much  of  me,  and  don't  blush  to  acknowledge  my  friend- 
ship, I  will  give  her, — yes,  I  will  give  her  a  pretty 
present !  I  will  buy  her  house  at  Sevres.  There ! 
What  will  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"I  will  say,  M.  Thierry,"  cried  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
deeply  touched,  *'  that  you  are  the  best  of  men  !  " 

^'  The  best,  in  truth?"  cried  the  rich  man,  so  flattered 
that  he  was  like  a  person  intoxicated;  —  ''the  best,  do 
you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  the  best  rich  man  that  I  know  ! " 

"  That  is  something  worth  while  !  Will  you  breakfast 
at  my  house  to-morrow  with  some  savants,  —  some  very 
famous  and  learned  men,  —  and  witness  a  baptism? 
Will  you  be  godmother,  and  accept  me  as  godfather  ?  " 

"Yes!  at  what  hour?" 

"  At  noon." 

"I  will  go, — but  in  the  company  of  some  lady,  since 
you  have  persons  at  your  house  whom  I  do  not  know.  I 
will  go  with  — " 

"  My  sister-in-law.     I  see  what  is  coming !  " 


ANTONIA.  75 

"  Very  well,  —  do  you  forbid  it?" 

"  Forbid  it?  Do  you  know  that  you  talk  as  if  I  were 
your  master?"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  mysterious  fatuity. 

"  As  if  you  were  my  father?  "  replied  Julie,  frankly. 

An  unchaste  old  man  would  have  been  wounded  by 
this  speech,  but  Antoine  was  chaste  in  his  folly ;  we  can 
affirm,  positively,  that  he  was  not  in  love  with  Julie  ;  it 
was  the  countess  only  who  was  the  object  of  his  passion. 
Whether  she  was  his  adopted  daughter,  or  his  wile,  mat- 
tered little  to  him.  Provided  that  he  could  show  her  off 
to  his  solemn  company  on  the  next  day,  —  to  the  savants, 
—  Marcel,  Julien,  to  Madam  Thierry  above  all,  and  to  all 
his  gardeners  ;  —  provided  that  he  could  see  her  leaning 
upon  his  arm  or  seated  at  his  table,  talking  to  him  with 
filial  friendship,  without  any  fear  of  what  the  world 
might  say,  —  provided  that  all  this  might  be,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  would  be  perfectly  happy. 

"  And  if  I  am  not  contented  even  then,"  he  thought,  — 
talking  to  himself  about  himself,  with  a  sort  of  ineffable 
tenderness,  —  "I  shall  have  time  enough  to  tame  her,  and 
lead  her  to  think  about  marriage  afterwards ;  and  when 
she  has  sacrificed  her  title  to  be  my  wife,  we  will  see 
then  whether  the  name  of  Thierry  the  elder  will  not  be 
worthy  to  stand  by  that  of  my  brother,  Thierry  the 
painter ! " 

"  Since  you  are  so  gracious,"  he  said  to  Julie,  "  I  will 
be  gracious  also.  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish.  I  com- 
mission you,  for  example,  to  give  my  invitation  to  Madam 
Andre  Thierry,  and  if  she  prevents  you  from  keeping 
your  appointment  to-morrow,  tell  her  that  I  will  never 
pardon  her  in  all  my  life." 

''  1  will  take  charge  of  her,  my  neighbor.  Farewell, 
until  to-morrow  ;  have  no  fear  !  " 

"Would  it  annoy  you  to  say  my  friend?"  replied 
Antoine,  whose  tongue  was  loosened  by  his  secret  hap- 
piness. 

"  It  would  not  annoy  me  at  all,"  replied  Julie,  laugh- 
ing ;  "I  will  call  you  so  to-morrow,  if  you  keep  your 
word." 

"  You  will  call  me  so  —  publicly?" 


76  ANTONIA. 

"  Publicly  —  and  with  all  my  heart." 

The  old  man  went  away  reeling  like  a  drunken  man. 
In  the  street  he  talked  to  himself  in  a  loud  voice  ;  his 
eyes  flashed,  and  he  made  emphatic  gestures.  The  passers- 
by  took  him  for  an  escaped  lunatic. 

He  followed  the  wall  of  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  mechanic- 
ally, for  his  first  idea  was  to  return  to  the  studio,  in 
order  to  see  whether  Julien  was  at  work,  and  whether 
his  lily  was  safe.  Suddenly  he  remembered  that  tlie 
Baroness  d'Ancourt  might  ruin  all  his  hopes,  by  revealing 
to  Madam  d'Estrelle  the  name  of  the  suitor  whose  cause 
she  had  espoused.  Evidently  Julie  suspected  nothing; 
she  had  no  reason  to  imagine  that  her  old  neighbor  was 
acting  from  an  interested  motive.  He  might  gi'adually 
lead  her  to  accept  him  as  her  husband,  by  impressing  her 
duly  with  his  wealth  and  magnificence ;  but  he  had 
wanted  to  go  too  fast,  and  had  come  very  near  spoiling 
everything.  Since  the  baroness  was  not  opposed  to  him, 
he  must  go  to  her  house  before  doing  anything  else,  tell 
her  how  matters  stood,  and  urge  her  to  be  silent.  II3 
called  a  carriage  that  M'as  passing,  and  ordered  the  coach- 
man to  drive  to  the  hotel  d'Ancourt. 

Julie  was  deeply  moved ;  like  every  generous  person 
who  has  sought  to  inspire  a  good  deed,  and  has  carried 
her  point,  she  lost  all  sense  of  her  own  personality  in  her 
sincere  joy  at  what  she  had  accomplished.  Impatient  to 
announce  the  important  news  to  Madam  Andre,  and 
make  her  promise  to  be  her  chaperon  at  the  breakfast  at 
the  hotel  Melcy,  she  threw  a  light  mantle  of  violet  silk 
over  her  shoulders,  and,  —  so  utterly  had  she  forgotten 
herself,  —  ran  towards  the  pavilion.  She  thought  no 
more  of  Julien  than  if  he  had  never  existed ;  or,  at  all 
events,  did  not  remember  that  it  was  her  duty  to  avoid 
him.  She  had  never  clearly  understood  how  serious  a 
matter  this  was  ;  and,  in  her  eagerness  to  see  his  mother, 
would  not  probably  have  hesitated,  even  if  she  had  re- 
membered it.  Besides,  she  was  alone.  There  was  no  one 
in  the  drawing-room,  no  one  in  the  garden.  Would  the 
roses  be  scandalized  at  her  imprudence  ?     Would   the 


ANTONIA. 


77 


nightingales  cry  over  the  walls  that  Madam  d'Estrelle 
had  entered  a  house  where  she  might,  perhaps,  meet  a 
young  man  whom  she  had  never  seen  ? 

Julien,  at  this  moment,  had  no  time  to  be  watching  for 
Julie's  approach.  He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  his  work. 
The  lily  could  not  promise  to  remain  fresh  and  unchanged, 
until  he  had  given  the  last  touch  to  his  picture.  Madam 
Thierry  was  in  her  room  with  Marcel ;  he  had  arrived 
finally,  and,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  with  Julien, 
had  gone  to  converse  with  his  aunt.  He  wanted  to  lec- 
ture her,  to  make  her  confess,  and  to  persuade  her  that 
the  cause  of  her  dislike  to  M.  Antoine  ought  to  remain 
concealed,  as  it  had  hitherto  been,  from  the  young  artist. 

Madam  d'Estrelle  struck  lightly  at  the  door  of  the 
pavilion.  A  great  wagon,  loaded  with  broken  stones, 
was  passing  at  this  moment  in  the  street.  The  noise  of 
the  wheels,  the  cries  of  the  driver,  and  the  cracking  of 
the  whip,  completely  drowned  her  feeble  knock.  Eager 
to  sec  Madam  Thierry  before  some  surly  message  from 
the  whimsical  Antoine  had  informed  her  of  his  plans,  and 
perhaps  made  her  unwilling  to  agree  to  them.  Madam 
d'Estrelle  opened  the  outer  door  boldly ;  she  opened  a 
second  door,  and  found  herself  in  Julien's  studio,  alone 
and  lace  to  face  with  the  young  artist ;  he  had  placed  his 
model  in  the  light  streaming  from  the  window  above  this 
door,  and  Julie  entered  in  a  blaze  of  glory  ;  it  seemed  aa 
if  she  had  come  to  him  in  a  ray  of  sunshine. 

Julien  was  so  little  prepared  for  this  vision,  that  he 
came  very  near  falling,  as  if  thunderstruck.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  heart,  and  his  face  became  whiter  than  M. 
Antoiue's  lily.  He  could  neither  speak  nor  bow ;  he 
stood  motionless,  with  his  pallet  in  his  hand,  his  eyes 
fixed,  —  absolutely  petrified. 

Did  the  beautiful  countess  experience  any  correspond- 
ing emotion  ?  At  the  sight  of  this  young  man,  whose 
beauty  was  so  faultless,  —  that  type  of  beauty  in  which 
the  nobility  of  the  lines  is  only  exceeded  by  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  expression,  —  what  took  place  in  her  heart 
and  soul?  Her  first  feeling  was  one  of  instinctive  re- 
spect ;   for  Julien  was  not  unknown  to  her.     She  had 


78  ANTONIA. 

heard  all  about  his  honest  and  self-saci ifieing  life,  his 
patient  industry,  at  the  same  time  so  ardent  and  regular, 
his  filial  love,  his  noble  sentiments ;  she  knew  how  well 
he  deserved  the  friendship  and  esteem  of  his  devoted 
friends.  She  had  sometimes  felt  a  curiosity  to  see  him  ; 
and,  either  because  she  considered  it  childish,  or  from  a 
vague  presentiment  that  their  meeting  would  be  danger- 
ous to  her  peace,  had  forbidden  herself  to  yield  to  this 
desire. 

Why  investigate  further?  It  is  enough  that  her  heart 
was  fully  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the  sentiment  that 
was  to  govern  her  life.  She  experienced  a  terrible  shock. 
The  agitation  by  which  Julien  was  paralyzed  overcame 
her  also,  and  she  remained  for  a  moment  as  silent  and 
motionless  as  he. 

If  any  one  had  seen  this  beautiful  couple,  just  as  they 
had  come  from  the  hand  of  God,  in  some  region  inacces- 
sible to  social  prejudices,  meeting  under  the  simple  and 
glorious  conditions  reigning  in  an  unfallen  world,  they 
would  have  said,  without  hesitation,  that  they  had  been 
destined  for  each  other  ;  that  God  had  made  this  superb 
man  for  this  charming  woman,  this  tender  and  true 
woman  for  this  ardent  and  proud  man.  In  Julie,  all 
was  grace,  tenderness,  and  sweetness ;  Julien  was  full 
of  passion  and  magnanimity.  When  they  beheld  each 
other  at  last,  in  the  radiance  of  the  May  sunshine,  humid 
with  the  perfumes  of  a  new  life,  each  of  them,  as  with 
an  irresistible  cry  of  love,  pronounced,  in  their  souls, 
the  names  that  destiny  (as  if  they  had  been  intended  to 
have  only  one  name)  had  given  them, — Jalie^  Julien! 

Upon  either  side  a  great  effort  was  necessary,  before 
they  could  remember  the  social  barriers  by  which  they 
were  separated. 

''  Ah  me  ! "  thought  Julie  ;  "  this  is  the  young  painter. 
I  thougnt  he  was  a  demi-god." 

"  Alas ! "  said  Julien  to  himself,  *'  this  is  the  great 
lady.     I  thought  she  was  half  myself." 

The  countess  was  the  first  to  bow,  and  ask  whether  he 
was  not  M.  Julien  Thierry.  He  bowed  deeply,  saying, 
with  an  expression  of  hypocritical  doubt,  — 


ANTONIA,  79 

"Madcam  the  Countess  d'Estrelle?" 

Mockery!  As  if  these  questions  were  necessary  to 
enable  them  to  understand  each  other. 

"  Has  your  mother  gone  out?"  said  the  countess. 

"  No,  madam.     I  will  go  and  call  her." 

And  Julien  did  not  stir  ;  his  feet  seemed  nailed  to  the 
floor. 

"  She  is  with  my  cousin,  Marcel  Thierry,"  he  added. 
"  Shall  I  ask  him  also  to  come  down  and  receive  the 
orders  —  ?" 

"  Do  not  disturb  either  of  them !  If  you  will  show 
me  the  way,  I  will  go  to  your  mother's  room.  But 
wait,"  she  added,  seeing  that  Julien  was  incapable  of 
moving ;  "  it  will  be  better,  perhaps,  to  prepare  your 
mother.  I  did  not  see  her  yesterday ;  she  may  not  be 
well." 

"  She  is  a  little  unwell,  it  is  true." 

"  Then,  —  yes,  you  must  prepare  her  for  a  surprise, — 
an  agreeable  surprise,  God  be  praised !  —  but  one  by 
which  she  might  be  agitated.  Make  her  understand, 
gently,  that  I  bring  great  and  good  news  in  regard  to  the 
house  at  Sevres." 

Julien  could  not  resist  his  desire  to  thank  Madam 
d'Estrelle.  His  presence  of  mind  had  somewhat  re- 
turned. He  blessed  her  for  what  she  had  done  for  his 
mother,  in  terms  as  heartfelt  as  they  were  delicately 
expressed.  Julie  was  deeply  moved,  but  not  surprised. 
With  liis  reputation,  and  his  irresistible  face,  Julien 
could  not  have  spoken  otherwise.  After  tliis  the  ice 
was  broken,  and  all  ceremony  forgotten.  Distrust  would 
have  seemed  a  mutual  insult.  They  talked  together  for 
a  moment  with  extraordinary  ease  and  familiarity, 

"  It  affords  me  happiness  to  have  rendered  your  mother 
a  service,"  said  Julie,  "  you  know  this  well.  She  must 
have  told  you  how  well  I  love  her  !  " 

*'  You  are  right  to  love  her ;  you  will  never  repent 
giving  her  your  friendship.  Her  heart  is  worthy  of 
yours." 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  that  I  was  worthy  of  her  confi- 
dence.    Oh,  she  has  told  me  about  you !     I  know  that 


8o  ANTONIA. 

you  worship  her,  and  God  will  bless  you  for  your  devoted, 
filial  love." 

"  He  has  blessed  me  already,  since  you  tell  me  that  I 
deserve  His  blessing." 

"  I  tell  you  so  most  heartily.  Why  should  I  hesitate 
to  say  so  ?  There  are  so  few  who  are  wholly  worthy  of 
our  esteem." 

''  There  are  those  whose  esteem  is  so  great  a  favor, 
that  to  obtain  it  you  would  accept  the  hate  and  scorn  of 
all  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  Oh  !  you  only  say  that  out  of  politeness  ;  you  do  not 
know  me  sufficiently  —  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  madam,  —  I  know  your  goodness, 
the  nobleness  of  your  soul,  the  kindness  of  your  heart.  I 
could  not  fail  to  understand  you  unless  I  were  both  deaf 
and  blind.  And  you,  who  scatter  blessings  upon  all  who 
surround  you,  cannot  feel  surprised  to  have  inspired  one 
whom  you  do  not  know  with  humble  admiration  and 
gratitude." 

It  seemed  to  Julie  that  the  very  air  she  breathed  was 
on  fire.  She  tried,  mechanically,  to  recover  herself,  but 
had  not  the  courage  to  withdraw  from  this  dangerous  con- 
versation. 

"Will  you  also  be  glad,"  she  said,  "to  regain  the 
house  where  you  were  brought  up  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad  for  my  poor  mother's  sake,  most  cer- 
tainly ;  but  not  upon  my  own  account." 

"  Do  you  like  Paris  so  well?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all ;  —  but  —  " 

Julien's  kindling  eyes,  darkened  by  a  cloud  of  emotion, 
expressed  clearly  enough  what  he  thought.  Julie  under- 
stood only  too  well.  She  tried  to  speak  of  something 
else  ;  she  looked  at  the  artist's  sketches,  she  praised  his 
talent,  —  that  talent  which  had  been  revealed  to  her  at  the 
same  time  with  his  love  ;  —  she  tried  to  tell  him  that  she 
understood  his  art,  but,  in  fact,  it  was  his  passion  that  she 
understood,  and  every  word  which  they  uttered  betrayed 
their  real  preoccupation.  The  agitation  of  the  one  was 
communicated  to  the  other ;  both  became  so  confused 
that  they  scarcely  knew  what   thf.y  were  saying;  and 


ANT  ON  I  A,  81 

finally  Madam  d'Estrelle  turned  to  M.  Antoine's  lily,  so 
as  to  have  something  to  talk  about. 

"  What  a  beautiful  flower  !  "  she  said ;  ^'  and  how 
fragrant  it  is  !  " 

''  Do  you  like  it?  "  cried  Julieu.  And,  with  the  impet- 
uosity of  a  lover  intoxicated  with  joy,  he  broke  the  stalk 
of  the  Antonia  TJiierrii,  and  offered  the  superb  stem  to 
Julie  ! 

The  countess  had  no  idea  of  the  interest  attaching  to 
this  plant ;  she  had  not  seen  Marcel  for  several  days  ;  and, 
as  Madam  Thierry  never  mentioned  her  brother-in-law 
when  she  could  help  it,  she  had  not  heard  it  spoken  of. 
Invited  to  a  baptism  on  the  following  day  at  the  hotel 
Melcy,  she  had  concluded,  naturally,  that  the  object  of 
M.  Antoine's  solicitude  was  the  child  of  some  retired 
frardeuor.  Slie  was  far  enough  from  imagining  that 
Julien,  in  breaking  this  flower,  severed  all  ties  with  his 
uncle,  and  cast  his  whole  future,  — a  future,  perhaps,  of 
wealth  and  prosperity,  —  at  the  feet  of  his  idol. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and  surprise,  however,  at 
the  artist's  rash  act. 

"  Ah,  moil  Dieu  I "  she  said  ;  "  what  have  you  done? 
Your  model?" 

"  I  have  finished,"  replied  Julien,  eagerly. 

"  No,  you  have  not  finished  ;  I  can  see  that  plainly  !  " 

"  I  will  finish  it  without  a  model ;  I  know  it  by 
heart ! " 

For  an  instant,  love  of  his  art  resumed  its  dominion 
over  him  ;  and,  as  he  cast  upon  the  lily  a  last  glance  of 
intellectual  possession,  Julie  replaced  it  upon  its  stem, 
and  said  gayly  and  gracefully,  with  careless  ease  and  self- 
forgetfulness,  — 

"  I  will  hold  it,  —  finish  !  it  will  not  fade  immediately. 
Come,  make  haste !  Your  picture  is  so  beautiful !  I 
shall  never  forgive  myself  for  having  interrupted  you. 
Work,  — I  wish  it!" 

*' You  wish  it?"  said  Julieu,  distractedly. 

There  was  a  second  piece  of  canvas  behind  his  picture ; 
this  he  seized,  and,  working  with  ardor,  with  fury,  ho 
sketched  and  painted  the  delicate  and  lovely  hand  of 
6 


82  ANTONIA. 

Madam  d'Estrelle.  The  lily  made  no  progress.  Julie, 
although  she  knew  it  not,  was  holding  it  in  vain,  while 
waiting  until  it  should  bow  its  proud  head  never  to  be 
lifted  again. 

Oh,  uncle  Antoine,  where  were  you  while  such  a  crime, 
without  remorse  and  without  terror,  was  being  commit- 
ted, under  the  eye  of  a  sleeping  or  malicious  Providence? 

A  slight  sound  upon  the  staircase  recalled  Julie  to 
herself;  it  was  Marcel,  who  was  coming  to  tell  Julien 
that  his  mother  had  consented  to  see  M.  Thierry  on  his  re- 
turn. Madam  d'Estrelle,  ashamed  of  being  surprised  alone 
with  the  artist,  and  on  terms  of  such  strange  familiarity, 
planted  the  stem  of  the  lily  hurriedly  in  the  light,  moist 
earth  of  the  vase.  The  Antonia  did  not  seem  aware  of 
what  had  occurred,  and  remained  fresh  and  beautiful. 
Marcel  entered,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  catastrophe. 

The  presence  of  the  countess  surprised  him  sufficiently  ; 
the  latter  was  exceedingly  disconcerted  at  meeting  him, 
and  Julien  perceived  this.  He  immediately  conquered 
his  emotion,  with  a  manly  eifort,  and  informed  Marcel 
that  the  countess  had  just  entered,  and  wished  to  speak  to 
his  mother.  At  the  same  time  he  offered  Julie  a  chair, 
as  if  she  had  not  yet  been  seated ;  and,  bowing  respect- 
fully, went  to  inform  Madam  Thierry  of  her  presence. 

Madam  d'Estrelle  was  infinitely  grateful  to  the  artist 
for  his  presence  of  mind.  This  slight  indication  showed 
her  that  she  was  not  dealing  with  a  child,  capable  of 
compromising  her  by  his  awkardness  and  simplicity,  but 
with  a  man,  —  watchful,  and  armed  at  all  points,  —  ready 
to  defend  her  from  every  danger,  to  preserve  her,  if 
necessary,  from  her  own  rashness.  She  loved  him  with 
her  whole  heart ;  and  she  felt  that  he  was  the  master  of 
her  destiny,  since  there  was  already  a  secret  between  them, 
to  be  concealed  from  the  scrutinizing  gaze  of  their  mu- 
tual friends. 

While  she  was  giving  Marcel  a  rapid  resume  of  her 
conversation  with  M.  Antoine,  Julien  entered  his  mother's 
room.     His  ftice  was  so  radiant,  that  she  cried,  — 

"  Mon  Dieu  I  how  beautiful  you  are  to-day.  What  has 
happened  ?  " 


ANTONIA,  83 

**  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  below,"  said  Julien  ;  "  she  brings 
you  joy  and  consolation.  She  has  persuaded  M.  Autoine 
to  purchase  your  house.  Quick !  put  on  your  cap,  and 
come  and  thank  your  good  angel." 

Surprised  and  delighted  as  Madam  Thierry  was,  she 
was  at  the  same  time  deeply  grieved.  Her  mother's  eye 
could  no  longer  be  deceived :  she  saw  plainly  the  repressed 
passion  concealed  by  Julien's  apparent  frankness,  and 
was  so  moved  that  she  burst  into  tears. 

"■How  now!  how  now!  what  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Julien.  "  My  poor  mother,  you  who  have  always  been  so 
courageous  in  misfortune,  can  you  be  so  overcome  by 
joy  ?  No  matter !  Let  your  cap  hang,  since  you  cannot 
fasten  it,  and  come  as  you  are.  Madam  d'Estrelle  will 
like  to  see  you  shed  such  tears  as  these ;  they  will  not 
trouble  her,  —  come  !  " 

"  Julien  !  Julien  !  I  am  not  weeping  for  joy  alone  ; 
my  heart  is  oppressed  by  sorrow,  and,  above  all,  by 
fear." 

"  You  are  afraid  that  you  will  have  to  thank  M.  An- 
toine  !  Nonsense,  mother !  That  is  too  childish,  — 
come ! " 

Madam  Thierry  was  ready  to  faint.  Julien  was  al- 
most angry  with  her,  for  her  emotion  was  making  him 
lose  the  precious  moments,  —  seconds  that  he  might  have 
passed  by  Julie's  side.  Marcel,  who  was  delighted  with 
the  good  news  that  the  countess  had  brought,  became  im- 
patient, in  his  turn,  at  his  aunt's  delay,  and  came  up 
stairs  to  hasten  her.  Julie  remained  alone  in  the  studio, 
therefore,  for  several  moments. 

These  moments,  —  swiftly  as  they  passed,  —  counted 
in  after  years  like  an  age  in  her  life,  for  they  brought  hei 
a  divine  revelation ;  the  light  flashed  into  her  soul  in  a 
single  dazzling  flame.  "  Your  happiness  is  found,"  said 
an  inward  voice,  endowed  with  sovereign  authority ;  "  it 
is  here.  A  devoted  love,  —  a  simple,  retired,  domestic 
life  ;  — it  is  this,  and  this  alone,  that  can  make  you  happy. 
Julien's  mother  experienced  this  happiness  during  the 
whole  period  of  her  youth.  Intercourse  with  the  world 
and  wealth  did  not  add  to  her  felicity.     They  diminished 


84  ANTONIA. 

it  rather,  by  withdrawing  her  from  her  domestic  life. 
Forget  the  world,  —  it  is  worth  your  while  !  Have  done 
forever  with  a  past  which  has  misled  you,  and  brought 
you  into  conflict  with  yourself.  Reconcile  yourself  to  your 
origin,  —  derived  from  tlie  middle  classes  far  more  than 
from  the  nobility  ;  with  your  conscience,  which  reproaches 
you  for  having  been  carried  away  by  a  desire  for  worldly 
glory,  and  for  having  yielded  to  the  threats  of  ambitious 
parents ;  seek  the  grace  of  God,  who  abandons  the 
worldly-minded ;  be  true,  be  strong,  —  like  this  young 
man  who  worships  you,  and  who  has  just  revealed  to  you, 
m  a  single  glance,  the  grandest,  the  noblest  passion  that 
you  will  ever  inspire.'* 

While  listening  to  this  mysterious  voice  of  her  own 
soul,  Julie  gazed  around  her,  and  was  surprised  to  feel 
her  agitation  succeeded  by  a  sense  of  divine  repose. 
This  was  due,  in  part,  to  a  very  simple,  natural  phe- 
nomenon. Julie  was  short-sighted ;  and  in  this  room,  so 
much  smaller  than  the  apartments  to  which  she  was  ac- 
customed, she  could  see,  in  spite  of  her  defective  vision, 
all  the  details  of  every  object  that  surrounded  her.  The 
pavilion  Louis  XIII.  was  a  very  humble  abode ;  but, 
in  spite  of  its  simplicity,  it  was  fitted  up  with  artistic 
taste  and  elegance.  The  building,  in  itself,  was  well- 
proportioned.  In  the  deep  and  large  embrasure  of  the 
window,  as  in  a  little  sanctuary,  the  widow  had  placed 
her  arm-chair,  her  spinning-wheel,  her  candle-stand,  and 
her  footstool,  —  giving  this  part  of  the  studio  the  aspect 
of  a  Flemish  interior ;  the  rest  of  the  room  had  been 
thoroughly  repaired,  although  with  the  strictest  economy. 
The  wainscoting  was  painted  gray,  and  was  perfectly 
plain,  except  for  a  few  panels,  whose  lines  were  straight 
throughout,  but  harmoniously  proportioned ;  the  ceiling 
was  white,  and,  although  not  very  high,  it  was  not  so  low 
as  to  be  oppressive  ;  above  each  door  was  an  oval  gar- 
land carved  in  wood,  of  quiet  leafage,  and  painted,  like 
the  headings  of  the  panels,  of  a  darker  gray  than  the  rest 
of  the  woodwork.  Two  or  three  valuable  flower  and 
fruit-pieces,  by  Andre  Thierry,  several  sketches,  and 
two  little  studies,  by  Julien,  hung  upon  the  walls.     On 


ANTONIA.  55 

A  bracket,  opposite  a  mirror,  stood  a  large  vase  of  Rouen 
porcelain,  full  of  natural  flowers  and  long  vines,  grace- 
fully arranged,  and  falling  to  the  floor.  A  little  carpet 
before  the  sofa,  two  or  three  easels,  shells,  boxes  of  in- 
sects, statuettes  and  engravings  upon  a  large  table,  plain 
oak  furniture,  and  a  harp,  —  the  only  costly  object  to 
be  seen,  —  its  worn,  gilt  strings  glittering  in  a  dark  cor- 
ner, —  completed  the  simple  interior.  Certainly  there  was 
nothing  elegant  or  luxurious  in  all  this,  but  an  air  of 
exquisite  neatness  and  taste  gave  a  charm  to  the  quiet 
room,  and  the  soft,  dreamy  light  made  you  feel  inclined  to 
reverie.  The  lilacs  growing  in  thick  masses  so  near  the 
house,  and  the  curtains  before  the  lower  part  of  the  win- 
dows, made  the  studio  a  little  dark.  But  there  was  some- 
tliing  in  this  greenish  light  that  was  strangely  poetical,  and 
a  sentiment  of  holy  meditation  seemed  floating  in  the  at- 
mosphere, that  penetrated  Julie's  very  soul.  What  more 
would  be  necessary  than  such  a  retreat  as  this,  —  so 
modest,  so  humble,  —  to  enable  her  to  enjoy  spiritual  hap- 
piness, —  the  eternal  ecstacy  of  a  true  moral  life  ?  What 
did  Julie  care  for  sumptuous  furniture,  etageres  loaded 
with  a  thousand  baubles  that  she  never  looked  at,  — blue 
ceilings  spangled  with  stars  of  gold  over  her  head.  Gobe- 
lins carpets  under  her  feet,  Sevres  vases  to  hold  her  bou- 
quets, liveried  lackeys  to  announce  her  friends,  boxes  of 
Chinese  fans,  and  caskets  full  of  diamonds?  They  had 
amused  her  only  for  a  day  ;  can  playthings  distract  a  weary 
heart  ?  Julien*s  simple  and  laborious  life,  —  his  touching 
devoiion  to  his  mother,  —  his  secret,  humble  love,  —  as 
he  liiniself  hod  called  it, — was  there  not  something  in 
all  tliis  purer  and  greater  than  she  could  ever  hope  to  find 
iu  tlie  lile  and  devotion  of  a  frivolous  or  blase  seigneur  f 

A  sparrow  that  Julien  had  tamed,  and  which  lived  in 
freedom  upon  the  neighboring  trees,  flew  into  the  studio, 
and  lighted  familiarly  upon  her  shoulder.  She  was 
amazed  ;  in  this  simple  incident  she  saw  for  a  moment  a 
prodigy,  —  au  ancient  augury,  —  an  omen  of  happiness 
or  victory  !     She  was  really  intoxicated. 

Madam  Thierry  entered  the  room  at  last,  in  the  utmost 
agitation.     She  had  insisted  upon  being  allowed  to  speat  • 


56  ANTONIA. 

to  the  countess  alone.  She  threw  herself  at  her  feet,  and, 
obliged  by  her  to  rise,  spoke  as  follows :  — 

''  You  are  good  as  an  angel,  ray  beautiful  neighbor. 
May  God  bless  you  a  thousand  times  !  But  I  must  show 
you  my  grief  as  well  as  my  joy  ;  my  sou,  my  dear  Julien, 
will  be  lost  unless  he  quickly  renounces  the  hope  of  ever 
seeing  you  again.  He  loves  you,  madam,  —  loves  you 
distractedly.  When  he  told  me  that  he  had  only  seen  you 
from  a  distance,  he  was  deceiving  me :  he  sees  you  every 
day  ;  he  gazes  at  you  by  stealth,  — he  intoxicates  himself, 
kills  himself  by  gazing  upon  you.  He  no  longer  eats, 
no  longer  sleeps ;  he  is  sad,  his  eyes  are  hollow,  he  is 
consumed  by  fever.  He  has  never  loved,  —  but  I  know 
how  he  will  love,  —  how  he  loves  already.  His  is  a 
nature  full  of  enthusiasm,  faith,  devotion.  Discourage 
him,  madam,  if  it  is  possible.  Do  not  look  at  him,  — 
do  not  speak  to  him,  —  never  see  him  again.  Have 
pity  upon  him  and  upon  me.  Never  come  to  our  house 
again ;  absence,  perhaps,  will  cure  him.  If  it  does  not 
cure  him,  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do  to  keep  from 
dying  of  gi'ief." 

Madam  Thierry's  voice  was  stifled  with  sobs  ;  and  these 
sobs  telling  so  eloquently  of  the  sincerity  of  her  grief, 
fell  upon  Julie's  heart  like  a  blow.  Her  dream  of  happi- 
ness,—^  must  it  not  vanish  before  this  maternal  despair? 
The  delicious  reverie  by  which  she  had  been  lulled  to  for- 
getfiilness,  was  it  not  a  fantastic  delusion,  at  which  she 
herself  would  smile  as  soon  as  she  crossed  the  threshold 
of  her  hotel?  Had  she  really  resolved  to  forsake  the 
world  forever,  and  throw  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  man 
whom  she  had  just  seen  for  the  first  time  ?  It  was  absurd 
to  think  of  such  a  thing ;  and  Madam  Thierry  was  a 
thousand  times  right  in  regarding  it  as  impossible.  Julie 
made  an  effort  to  enter  into  her  state  of  feeling,  and  to 
throw  off  her  momentary  infatuation  ;  but  the  charm  of 
that  moment  of  madness  must  have  been  potent  indeed, 
for  the  idea  of  submitting  again  to  reason  seemed  to 
rend  her  heart;  and,  instead  of  replying  to  the  poor 
mother  with  dignity  and  good  sense,  -^  instead  of  trying  to 


ANTONIA,  87 

reassure  her,  —  she  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and,  like 
her,  burst  into  tears. 

Madam  Thierry  was  so  surprised  by  these  tears,  that 
she  felt  as  if  she  would  go  frantic.  She  dared  not  ask 
the  countess  to  explain  her  emotion,  and,  moreover,  she 
had  no  time  to  do  so ;  Julien  and  Marcel  entered. 

"  Come,  my  dear  mother,"  Julien  said,  ''you  are  crying 
altogether  too  much.  You  have  forgotten  to  thank 
Madam  d'Estrelle,  I  am  sure,  and  to  arrange  your  plans. 
Marcel  has  just  told  me  that  you  must  express  your  grat- 
itude to  M.  Thierry  in  person,  and  that  you  must  go  to- 
morrow to  his  house,  so  as  —  " 

Julie  had  turned  her  face  to  the  window,  and  was  trying 
to  conceal  and  dry  her  tears  without  attracting  observa- 
tion ;  Julien,  who  had  been  watching  her,  saw  at  tliis 
moment  what  she  was  about.  He  repressed  a  cry,  and 
involuntarily  took  a  step  towards  her.  Marcel,  who 
perceived  the  strange  agitation  of  the  two  women,  and 
who  could  only  suppose  that  Madam  Thierry  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  nervous  attack,  and  had  said  something  to 
agitate  the  countess,  took  up  Julien's  interrupted  sentence, 
so  as  to  renew  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  we  must  go  to-morrow,  so  as  to 
witness  the  baptism  of — " 

Marcel  was  like  Julien ;  he  remained  with  his  eyes 
fixed  and  mouth  open,  unable  to  articulate  another  word  ; 
for,  happening  to  glance,  not  upon  Julie,  but  upon  tho 
plant  that  he  was  about  to  name,  he  saw  it  reduced  to 
a  cluster  of  bulbs  and  a  broken  stem,  damp  with  the 
sap  oozing  slowly  forth,  and  falling  in  great  drops,  like 
tears. 

"  Where  is  it? "  he  cried,  stupefied.  "  Wliat  have  you 
done  with  it?  Great  God,  Julien,  what  have  you  done 
with  the  Antonia  ?  " 

No  one  replied.  Madam  Thierry  looked  at  Julien ; 
he  gazed  steadily  at  Madam  d'Estrelle,  while  Madam 
d'Estrelle,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  whole  affair,  did  not 
know  what  to  think  of  the  lawyer's  strange  alarm. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?*'  she  said,  rising.  And, 
as  she   rose,  the  Antonia,   which,  when    she    had   been 


88  ANTONIA. 

left  alone  in  the  studio,  she  had  taken  from  the  vase 
and  placed  tenderly  upon  her  lap,  fell  at  her  feet. 

Madam  Thierry  understood  at  once  the  real  state  of 
the  case.     Marcel  was  not  so  clear-sighted. 

"Ah,  madam,"  he  cried,  "  to  anyone  else  who  had 
caused  this  accident,  I  should  say  that  she  had  ruined  us ! 
But  what  can  I  say  to  you?  And,  after  all,  why  need  we 
be  afraid  of  the  consequences  of  your  act?  Uncle  An- 
toine  will  never  visit  his  anger  upon  you  !  You  did  not 
know  what  you  were  doing  ;  Julien  did  not  tell  you  !  " 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Madam  Thierry,  "Julien  ex- 
plained nothing  to  our  benefactress  ;  but  she  must  see  for 
herself  that  every  one  in  this  house  is  not  reasonable,  and 
that,  while  wishing  to  serve  us,  she  runs  the  risk  of 
aggravating  our  sorrows  —  " 

"It  is  you,  mother,  who  are  not  reasonable,"  cried 
Julien,  vehemently.  "  Really,  I  do  not  understand  you 
to-day  !  You  are  too  much  excited  ;  your  words  betray 
your  thoughts.  It  seems  to  me,  that  instead  of  thanking 
Madam  d'Estrelle,  you  have  been  imparting  to  her  absurd 
fancies  —  " 

Julien  scolded  his  mother,  who  began  to  cry  again. 
Marcel,  seeing  Madam  d'Estrelle's  astonishment,  took  her 
apart,  and  in  three  words  gave  her  the  key  to  the  mys- 
tery, and  at  the  same  time  the  palpable  proof,  as  it  were, 
of  the  young  artist's  ardent  passion.  Deeply  moved  at 
first,  she  collected  her  strength,  and  recovered  her  pres- 
ence of  mind,  to  avert  the  blow  that  threatened  the 
family. 

"  Leave  it  all  to  me,"  she  said  to  Madam  Thierry,  with 
assumed  cheerfulness  ;  "  I  will  take  everything  upon  my- 
self ;  it  was  I  who  committed  the  fault,  and  it  is  my  duty, 
therefore,  to  repair  it." 

"  The  fault !  what  fault?"  cried  Julien. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  took  a  fancy  to  the  flower  and  begged 
you  for  it.  No !  that  is  not  it ;  how  dull  I  am !  It 
was  I  who  picked  it,  yes,  —  a  foolish  fancy  in  a  mo- 
ment of  abstraction  !  — You  were  not  here.  I  am  near- 
sighted, awkward !     I  will  explain  it  all  to  your  uncle. 


ANTONIA.  89 

Mon  Dieu !  what  do  you  suppose  he  will  do  ?  He  will 
not  beat  me.     He  is  not  so  wicked  !  " 

'*  Alas  !  "  said  Madam  Thierry,  "  unfortunately  he  is 
very  wicked  when  he  is  offended  ;  and  if  he  knew  that 
Julien  had  committed  this  sacrilege  —  " 

*'  It  really  was  Julien,  then  ?  "  said  Marcel,  astounded 
in  his  turn.     "  It  is  incomprehensible  !  " 

"  Certainly  it  was  I,  and  I  alone,"  replied  Julien ; 
"  there  is  nothing  strange  in  that  —  " 

*'  You  are  mistaken ! "  said  Marcel,  in  a  low  voice, 
perceiving,  at  last,  the  real  cause  of  the  misfortune.  *'  You 
are  too  audacious,  ray  lad  ;  and  you  must  have  become 
both  heartless  and  frivolous,  to  have  sacrificed  thus  your 
mother's  future,  and  your  own,  without  mentioning  that 
Madam  d'Estrelle  is  too  good,  and  ought  rather  to  have 
put  you  in  your  right  place." 

*'  Silence,  Marcel,  silence  !  "  said  Julien.  "  You  do 
not  know  what  you  are  talking  about ;  you  do  not  un- 
derstand—  " 

"  I  understand  only  too  well,"  said  Marcel ;  "  and,  on 
my  honor,  I  am  like  your  mother  now,  —  I  say  that 
you  have  lost  your  senses  — " 

This  dialogue  was  carried  on  in  the  recess  of  the 
window,  where  Marcel  had  led  Julien,  while  the  two 
hidies  stood  together  by  the  despoiled  vase,  talking  in  low 
voices,  and  without  well  knowing  what  they  were  say- 
ing. Madam  Thierry  tried  mechanically  to  plant  anew 
the  stem  of  the  decapitated  lily,  and  Madam  d'Estrelle 
sought  to  console  her  in  vain,  for  her  greatest  trouble 
was  not  the  loss  of  the  Antonia^  but  rather  the  storm  of 
passion  that  had  led  to  its  loss.  Suddenly  Julien,  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  watching  the  curtain,  and  glancing  at  the 
crevice  through  which  he  saw  into  the  garden,  started 
violently.  Seizing  Marcel  by  the  arm,  and  motioning 
him  to  be  silent,  he  said  in  a  whisper,  — 

"Be  quiet,  for  the  love  of  God  I     Some  one  is  lis- 


90 


ANTONIA, 


IV. 

0  OME  one  was  listening,  in  fact,  and  it  was  too  late  to  be 
^  silent.  Uncle  Antoine  had  heard  everything.  How 
he  came  to  be  spying  about  in  Madam  d'Estrelle's  gar- 
den, we  shall  soon  learn.  Marcel  followed  Julien's  eye, 
saw  the  crevice  in  the  curtain,  and,  leaning  forward  in 
his  turn,  saw  Croquimitaine  on  the  watch.  He  left  the 
window,  and  warned  Madam  d'Estrelle.  For  a  moment, 
they  talked  in  pantomime.  They  had  not  yet  decided 
what  to  do,  when  Antoine,  no  longer  hearing  their  voices, 
struck  at  the  garden  door. 

This  arrival  was  something  like  that  of  the  statue 
in  Don  Giovanni.  Julien  was  going  promptly  to  open 
the  door,  when  Madam  d'Estrelle  remembered  that  her 
presence  might  give  rise  to  some  ridiculous  scene,  and 
that  her  absence  would,  without  any  fail,  be  made  the 
occasion  of  a  stormy  outbreak.  She  determined  upon 
her  course  in  an  instant :  detained  Julien,  by  authori- 
tatively laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  signing  to 
him  and  the  others  not  to  move,  went  into  the  hall, 
opened  the  door  herself,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  M. 
Antoine.  Although  he  had  prepared  his  part,  he  was  a 
little  surprised,  —  he  who  imagined  that  he  was  going  to 
surprise  every  one. 

''  What  —  you,  M.  Antoine  ! "  said  Julie,  pretending  to 
be  perfectly  astonished.  ''What  are  you  doing  here? 
You  came  back  to  the  hotel,  then  ?     Who  told  you  where 

1  was  ?  and  what  put  it  into  your  head  to  cross  my  gar- 
den?" 

Without  waiting  for  his  answer,  she  took  the  horticul- 
turist's arm  and  led  him  quite  a  distance  from  the 
pavilion,  to  the  edge  of  a  little  lake  in  the  centre  of  the 
lawn  fronting  the  hotel. 

"  But  —  I  was  going  to  the  pavilion,"  stammered  M. 
Antoine. 

"I  suppose  so,  since  I  found  you  at  the  door." 

"  I  was  gr)ing  —  with  very  good  intentions  ;  but  —  " 


ANTONIA. 


9* 


**  Who  doubts  it  ?     Certainly  not  I,  my  friend." 

"  Ah  !  Now  you  talk  as  I  want  to  have  you  !  So  — 
you  would  like  to  talk  to  me  alone,  —  I  see,  —  it  is  just 
the  same  with  me  ;  I  want  to  tell  you  about  an  idea  that 
I  have  —  " 

"  Sit  down  upon  this  bench,  my  neighbor,  I  will  listen 
to  you ;  but,  first  of  all,  you  must  hear  me,  for  I  have  a 
confession  to  make." 

"  All  right  —  I  know  what  it  is  ;  you  have  picked  my 
lily?" 

''  Ah,  mon  Dieu  I     How  did  you  know  that? " 

"  I  heard  a  few  words,  and  I  guessed  the  rest.  Why 
did  you  break  the  poor  flower?  Could  you  not  have 
asked  me  for  it?  Could  you  not  have  waited  until  to- 
morrow ?     I  intended  to  give  it  to  you." 

''But  —  supposing  I  did  not  do  it  on  purpose?" 

''  You  did  not  do  it  on  purpose?" 

Julie  felt  that  she  was  blushing,  for  Antoine  was  look- 
ing at  her  attentively,  and  the  expression  of  irony  in  his 
little  black  eyes  was  at  the  same  time  bitter  and  tender. 

''  No  indeed,"  she  answered,  hoping  to  save  herself 
by  a  Jesuitical  device  ;  "  the  accident  happened  against  my 
will ! " 

''  Good,  good  !  "  replied  Antoine,  who  was  still  gazing 
searcliingly  into  her  face ;  "  say  that,  —  I  prefer  that." 

''  You  prefer  that,  —  what  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mordie  !  Come,  abandon  the  bad  cause  that 
you  want  to  plead.  Condemn,  frankly,  the  folly  and 
treachery  of  Master  Julien,  and  leave  me  to  punish  him 
as  he  deserves." 

''  But  what  makes  you  think  that  M.  Julien?  —  " 

"  Ah,  do  not  try  to  lie,"  cried  M.  Antoine,  starting  up 
with  a  bound,  his  little  body  quivering  with  passion  and 
indignation ;  "  it  does  not  suit  you  to  lie ;  you  do  not 
know  how  !  And,  besides,  it  is  useless  ;  I  tell  you  that 
I  heard,  and,  as  I  am  not  a  fool,  I  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion   Julien  finds  you  to  his  liking ;  and  the  rascal 

would  like  to  tell  you  so,  if  he  dared  1 " 

"  Monsieur  Thierry,  what  are  you  saying?" 

"  What  am  I  saying  ?  —  I  am  stating  things  aa  they 


92 


ANTONIA. 


are.  Mademoiselle  de  Meuil  was  as  proud  as  you  can 
be ;  my  brother  Andre  told  her  his  fine  stories,  and 
ended  by  making  himself  understood.  All  men  and  all 
women  are  of  the  same  clay  !  Come,  acknowledge  the 
truth  ;  do  you  like  Julien  or  not,  —  yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Thierry,  if  I  did  not  know  your  good  heart, 
the  disagreeable  tone  of  your  conversation  would  disgust 
me !     Please  to  speak  differently,  or  I  will  leave  you." 

"  Oh,  now  you  are  angry !  You  remember  your  pride, 
and  are  going  to  turn  your  back  upon  me.  Why  ?  It  is 
not  your  affair !  Julien  has  committed  a  folly,  —  let  him 
pay  the  penalty." 

"  No,  Monsieur  Thierry,  it  was  my  fault,  —  I  am  the 
unfortunate  cause  of  the  accident ;  if  I  had  not  admired 
and  praised  the  flower  indiscreetly,  —  he  considered  him- 
self obliged  to  offer  it  to  me,  —  politeness  —  " 

"  Bad  reasons,  bad  reasons,  my  beautiful  lady  !  The 
scoundrel  knew  perfectly  well  that  I  would  have  thrown 
the  flower,  the  plant,  the  garden,  and  the  gardener  into 
the  bargain,  at  your  feet.  If  he  did  not  know  it,  he 
ought  to  have  guessed  it ;  and,  anyhow,  he  had  no  right 
to  play  the  generous  with  my  property ;  it  was  a  rape, 
an  abuse  of  confidence,  and  a  theft.  He  may  eat  his 
fingers  for  the  rest  of  his  life  ;  and  his  mother  will  learn 
what  it  costs  to  have  brought  up  a  son  to  play  the  courtier 
improperly  with  great  ladies." 

'"''  Oh,  my  neighbor,"  cried  Madam  d'Estrelle,  in  great 
distress,  and  quite  out  of  patience,  "  you  are  not  going  to 
withdraw  your  favor  from  them ;  you  are  not  going  to 
make  it  seem  as  if  I  had  lied,  —  I,  who  placed  you  upon  a 
pedestal ;  you  are  not  going  to  break  the  bond  of  friend- 
ship that  we  formed  to-day  ?  For  a  flower  more  or  less 
in  your  collection,  you  would  not  cause  so  much  unhap- 
piness  ?  You  are  too  rich  to  be  troubled  by  a  loss  tha*. 
can  so  easily  be  repaired." 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk !  There  are  some  things 
that  millions  cannot  replace  ;  which  a  man  of  taste  re- 
gards as  altogether  priceless." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  I  mon  Dieu  I  Who  could  have  sup- 
posed such  a  thing  ?  " 


ANTONIA,  93 

"  Julien  knew  it." 

"  No,  it  is  impossible  !  " 

''  I  tell  you  that  he  knew  it." 

"  Then  he  is  crazy :  but  it  is  not  his  mother's  fault ; 
she  was  not  there." 

'^  It  is  his  mother's  fault.  She  encourages  him  to  love 
you,  she  fawns  upon  you,  so  as  to  lead  you  to  sacrifice 
yourself,  as  she  did  for  her  husband." 

*'  No !  I  swear  to  you  that  you  are  mistaken.  Mon- 
sieur Thierry  !     She  is  desperate  —  " 

''About  what?  Ah!  you  acknowledge  that  she  has 
talked  to  you  about  it,  and  that  you  know  the  feelings  of 
the  young  man." 

Madam  d'Estrelle  struggled  in  vain.  All  the  prudence 
of  her  sex,  all  the  pride  of  her  rank,  all  her  natural  tact 
and  knowledge  of  the  world  were  shipwrecked,  as  it  were, 
upon  the  brutal,  straightforward  logic  of  the  old  man. 
Slie  was  caught  in  a  vise ;  and  felt  ashamed,  awkward, 
unmasked,  without  resources.  What  should  she  do? 
order  him  out  of  her  presence,  and  have  done  for- 
ever with  this  rude  vulgarian,  and  his  odious  questions  ? 
But  that  would  be  abandoning  the  cause  of  the  poor 
Thierrys,  and  giving  them  up  to  his  vengeance  ;  she  felt 
that  she  ouglit  rather  to  restrain  her  indignation,  defend 
herself  as  well  as  she  could,  and  submit  to  being  humili- 
ated by  his  most  misplaced  admonitions. 

''  It  seems,"  she  said,  with  melancholy  resignation, 
"  that  I  committed  a  great  fault  in  going  to  the  pavilion, 
and  yet  my  intention  was  most  innocent.  I  had  never 
seen  M.  Julien  Thierry,  I  was  overjoyed  by  your  gen- 
erous promises,  and  went  to  make  the  heart  of  his  poor 
mother  glad ;  I  am  well  punished  for  having  been  so 
enthusiastic  about  you,  M.  Thierry,  since  you  think  you 
have  a  right  to  scold  me,  and  to  demand  an  explanation 
of  the  most  innocent,  if  not  the  wisest,  step  that  one 
woman  ever  took  for  the  benefit  of  another." 

''  And  who  says  that  I  blame  you  ?  "  replied  M.  Antoine, 
at  the  same  time  softened  and  irritated  by  her  appeal ;  ''  I 
condemn  no  one,  except  the  real  culprits.  Do  you  know 
what  would  have  happened,  if  I  had  entered  suddenly, 


94  ANTONIA, 

when  Master  Julien  was  breaking  my  lily?  I  should 
have  broken  him.  Yes,  as  truly  as  I  tell  you  so,  I  would 
have  done  it.  Here  is  a  cane  that  would  have  split  his 
painter's  head  for  him." 

The  old  man's  wicked  and  excited  expression  alarmed 
Madam  d'Estrelle ;  really  afraid  of  him,  she  looked 
around  involuntarily,  as  if  to  seek  protection  in  case  she 
should  become  the  object  of  his  rage.  Just  then  there 
was  a  tremulous  movement  in  the  thick  foliage  surround- 
ing the  bench ;  it  was  only,  perhaps,  a  bird  hopping 
about  amid  the  branches,  but  she  felt  a  vague  sense  of 
security. 

"  No,  M.  Antoine,"  she  resumed,  with  courageous 
gentleness,  "  you  will  never  make  me  believe  that  you 
are  a  wicked  man,  or  that  you  would  behave  cruelly  to 
any  one.  You  must  blame  me  alone  for  this  accident. 
Scold  me,  —  you  have  a  right  to  do  so.  I  will  promise 
you  what  I  have  already  promised  myself,  that  I  will 
never  again  enter  the  pavilion.  What  can  I  do  more? 
Come,  tell  me  ! " 

At  this  moment  the  foliage  stirred  a  little  more  vio- 
lently, and  Julien's  tame  sparrow,  like  a  messenger 
sent  from  him  to  implore  her  pardon,  came  and  lighted 
upon  Madam  d'Estrelle's  shoulder.  Moved  by  this  tri- 
fling incident  more  than  she  cared  to  acknowledge,  she 
took  the  friendly  little  animal  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand, 
with  a  sort  of  tenderness. 

''  Hum  !  "  said  M.  Antoine,  whose  piercing  eyes  seemed 
to  possess  the  power  of  divination.  "  That  is  a  strange 
companion  !     Does  it  belong  to  you  }  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Julie,  who  feared  that  his  vengeance 
against  Julien  would  fall  upon  the  poor  bird,  if  he  knew 
that  it  was  his. 

"  A  tame  sparrow  !  It  is  an  ugly  beast,  and  one  that 
does  a  great  deal  of  mischief.  If  it  were  not  yours  — 
Did  Julien  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  There  again  !  You  think  of  nothing  but  Julien  !  " 
cried  Madam  d'Estrelle,  losing  patience,  "  and  I  really 
cannot  understand  the  strange  turn  that  our  conversa- 
tion has  taken.      I  am  very  sorry  that  I  went  to  the 


ANTONIA. 


95 


pavilion ;  I  regret  exceedingly  the  accident  that  has 
occurred.  How  can  I  repair  it  ?  Will  you  not  tell  me 
that,  instead  of  wounding  me  with  all  these  unjust  insin- 
uations ?  " 

*'  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ?  " 

*'  Yes  !  did  I  not  promise  to  go  to  a  family  festival  at 
your  house  lo-morrow?  " 

"The  baptism  of  my  poor  Antoniaf  That  is  done 
witli.  The  child  is  dead,  or  at  least  disfigured.  I  must 
invite  my  guests  to  a  burial.  And,  besides,  it  no  longer 
suits  me  to  invite  Madam  Andre,  and  to  pretend  to  be 
friendly  with  her  son  —  at  least,  unless  —  " 

Madam  d'Estrelle  imagined  that  the  rich  man  had  re- 
pented of  his  munificence,  and  wanted,  perhaps,  to  reduce 
the  sum  that  he  had  offered  for  the  pavilion. 

"  Speak,  speak  !  "  she  cried  eagerly  ;  "  I  will  agree  to 
anything  that  can  make  you  amends  and  console  you." 

There  was  no  limit  to  M.  Antoine's  vanity.  He  had 
seen  Madam  d'Ancourt  an  hour  before,  and  she,  out  of 
spite  against  Julie,  had  inflamed  his  imagination,  and 
encouraged  him  in  his  audacious  hopes.  He  had  re- 
turned, intending  to  offer  himself.  Not  finding  Julie  in 
the  drawing-room,  he  had  been  so  bold  as  to  follow  her 
into  the  garden.  The  incident  of  the  broken  lily  hurried 
forward  the  inevitable  event.  His  folly  had  reached  a 
climax,  —  he  declared  himself. 

*'  Madam,"  ho  said,  ''  you  drive  me  to  the  point,  with 
your  pretty  words  and  sweet  manners  ;  if  you  are  offended 
at  what  1  say,  it  is  your  own  fault.  Consider  a  little ! 
You  are  not  rich,  and  I  know  that  you  were  not  born 
upon  the  steps  of  a  throne.  I  do  not  consider  you  proud, 
either,  since  you  go  to  the  studio  of  an  insignificant 
painter,  and  accept  his  homage, — at  my  expense  !  A 
ridiculous  story  !  but  no  matter.  Laugh  at  it,  but  let  us 
end  by  being  reasonable.  Julien  has  good  ancestors 
upon  his  mother's  side,  but  he  is  my  nephew,  nevertheless : 
—  he  is  a  plebeian.     Do  you  despise  him  for  that?" 

''  No,  certainly  !  " 

"His  fault,  then,  is  that   he  is  poor?     But  suppose 


^  ANTONIA. 

he  was  rich,  very  rich,  —  come,  what  would  you  say  to 
him  then?" 

"  You  want  to  give  him  a  fortune,  so  that  I  may  marry 
him?"  said  Madam  d'Estrelle,  in  a  sort  of  stupor  of 
amazement. 

"Who  said  anything  of  the  kind?" 

"•  Excuse  me,  —  I  thought  —  " 

"  You  thought  that  I  was  making  you  a  very  silly 
proposition.  What  does  an  artist  amount  to  ?  Suppose 
I  should  give  him  a  fortune,  would  the  money  I  have 
earned  elevate  him  in  your  eyes?  Those  who  have 
carved  out  their  own  destiny,  who  have  shown  that  they 
deserve  respect  by  the  talent  they  have  displayed  in  busi- 
ness, are  the  ones  who  deserve  consideration.  Come, 
you  understand  me  perfectly  well.  I  am  offering  you  a 
good  man,  a  large  fortune,  and  a  name  that  has  made 
some  noise  in  the  world ;  a  man  who  will  fulfil  all  your 
wishes  during  his  life,  and  will  leave  you  all  his  property 
after  his  death ;  a  man  who  has  neither  mistresses,  nor 
illegitimate  children,  nor  cares,  nor  responsibilities  of 
any  kind ;  and,  finally,  a  man  who  will  be  your  grand- 
father, and  w^hom  no  one  will  accuse  you  of  selecting  out 
of  caprice  and  gallantry.  You  will  show  your  good  sense 
and  delicacy,  on  the  contrary,  by  choosing  him,  for  you 
have  debts,  —  more  debts  than  property  ;  and,  if  Marcel 
calculates  well,  he  cannot  give  you  much  encouragement. 
Keflect,  therefore  !  If  you  say  no,  you  will  be  certain  to 
meet  with  great  misfortunes,  while  every  one  will  honor 
you  for  freeing  yourself  from  your  embarrassments  by  a 
reasonable  marriage.  You  seem  to  be  very  much  sur- 
prised ;  and  yet  your  friend  the  baroness  gave  you  to 
understand  —  but  she  did  not  tell  you  the  amount,  per- 
haps?" 

"  Five  millions,  is  it  not?"  said  Julie,  who  had  grown 
pale  and  haughty.  "  You  are  the  person  to  whom  she 
referred,  and  you  are  speaking  of  yourself?  " 

"What  if  I  am?  Does  the  idea  shock  you  ?  Does  it 
offend  you  ?  " 

"No,  Monsieur  Thierry,"   replied  Julie,   with  a  su- 


ANTONIA.  97 

preme  effort;  "  I  feel  very  mnch  honored  by  your  offer, 
but  —  " 

"  But  what?  My  age?  Do  you  imagine  that  I  want 
to  play  the  lover?  No,  God  be  praised!  I  never  had 
that  weakness,  and,  at  my  age,  I  am  not  a  fool.  I  want 
to  be  your  father  by  contract ;  I  want  to  marry  you  so 
that  I  may  have  the  right  to  make  you  my  heiress. 
Come,  we  have  talked  enough.  You  must  say  yes  or  no, 
for  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  kept  in  suspense,  and  I  do  not 
want  to  be  humiliated.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

M.  Antoine  spoke  with  singular  authority.  Julie  was 
afraid  that  a  refusal  would  exasperate  him. 

"  You  are  too  hasty,"  she  replied  ;  "  my  character  is 
undecided  and  timid.  You  must  give  me  time  for  re- 
flection." 

"Then  —  you  do  not  say  no?"  replied  the  old  man, 
evidently  flattered  at  being  allowed  to  hope. 

"  I  do  not  say  anything,"  replied  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
who  bad  risen,  and  was  approaching  the  house  eagerly. 
''  I  am  agitated,  as  you  see,  by  an  offer  that  I  did  not 
expect.  Give  me  several  days  for  reflection,  for  consid- 
eration,—  I  am  deeply  moved,  deeply  touched  by  your 
friendship ;  but  I  am  alarmed,  also,  for  I  had  sworn  to 
remain  free  !  Adieu,  Monsieur  Thierry,  —  leave  me  !  I 
really  need  to  be  alone  with  my  own  heart ;  do  not  try 
and  force  me  into  a  decision  by  your  goodness." 

Julie  escaped  into  an  inner  room,  and  uncle  Antoine 
left  the  hotel.  Devoured  by  a  fever  of  hope  that  made 
him  more  insane  than  ever,  he  ibrgot  the  pavilion,  the 
lily,  the  picture :  he  forgot  everything ;  but  when  lie 
found  himself  in  the  rue  de  Babylone,  in  front  of  the  pavil- 
ion, he  was  seized  by  a  furious  desire  to  torment,  puzzle, 
and  bewilder  his  relatives.  He  rang,  and  was  admitted  by 
Marcel,  who  was  waiting  to  learn  the  result  of  his  con- 
ference with  Julie. 

"  So,  here  you  are  !  "  he  said,  abruptly.  "  Where  is 
my  plant  ?     Has  Master  Julien  finished  my  picture  ?  " 

"  Come  into  the  studio,"  said  Marcel ;  "  the  picture  ia 
fi  lished,  and  your  lily  is  as  fresh  as  if  nothing  had  hap» 
pened." 

T 


^8  ANTONIA. 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  "  muttered  Antoine,  ironically  ;  <'  it 
has  done  it  good  to  be  broken." 

He  came  into  the  studio  with  his  hat  on  ;  his  sister-in- 
law,  with  a  sad  countenance,  and  in  a  very  dejected  at- 
titude, was  seated  upon  her  little  cane-chair  in  the  recess 
of  the  window ;  without  seeeiug  her,  without  glanc- 
ing around,  he  went  straight  up  to  his  lily,  examined  the 
fracture,  and  gazed  eagerly  at  the  stalk,  whicli  continued 
to  bloom  in  the  damp  earth.  Then  he  looked  at  the  por- 
trait of  the  Antonia^  and  turning  to  Julien,  said,  — 

"  I  like  it  very  much  ;  but  you  sha'n't  have  my  custom, 
for  all  that." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  studio,  passed  before 
Madam  Thierry,  saw  her  at  last,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
hat,  saying,  in  a  surly  tone,  '^  Your  servant,  madam  !  " 

Returning  to  Marcel,  he  laughed  in  his  face,  like  a 
crazy  man,  without  uttering  a  word ;  and  finally,  furious 
because  he  could  not  find  any  way  of  revenging  himself 
that  would  not  deprive  him  of  his  fiancee's  good  opinion, 
he  rushed  to  the  door.  Marcel,  who  saw  what  he  was 
suffering,  drew  him  back. 

'' Come,  uncle,"  he  said,  "we  must  know  how  we 
stand  !  Has  the  Countess  d'Estrelle  obtained  our  pardon, 
or  must  I  sell  my  practice  to  pay  damages  ? " 

"  The  Countess  d'Estrelle,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  is 
a  prudent  person,  who  knows  the  difference  between  hair- 
brained  fools  and  a  sensible  man.  You  will  see  the 
proof  of  it  some  day." 

Madam  Thierry,  who  could  not  endure  her  brother- 
in-law's  insolence,  and  who  thought  he  intended  to  insult 
her,  arose  to  go  to  her  room.  Antoine  bowed  slightly, 
and  continued,  — 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  for  you,  Madam  Andre,  I  have 
nothing  at  all  to  say  to  you  !  —  " 

"  And  I  have  nothing  at  all  to  say  to  you,"  replied  the 
wddow,  in  a  tone  of  disdainful  bitterness,  which  she  was 
aot  prudent  enough  to  repress. 

Julien,  incapable  of  humiliating  himself  by  making 
excuses,  devo/ired  his  indignation  in  silence,  and  Marcel 


ANTONIA. 


99 


followed  the  embarrassed  and  disordered  movements  of 
the  horticulturist  with  a  piercing  eye. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  uncle  ?  "  he  said,  when  Madam 
Thierry  had  left  the  room.  "  You  are  hatching  out  some- 
thing, good  or  bad !     Be  sensible,  and  tell  the  truth." 

"Oh,  the  truth,  the  truth !  that  is  what  you  want ! " 
replied  M.  Antoine  ;  "  the  truth  will  be  seen  and  known 
when  the  day  and  hour  comes  !  Every  one,  perhaps,  will 
not  find  it  a  laughing  matter  !  " 

Julien,  who  was  still  painting,  lost  patience ;  layiu^^ 
down  his  pallette  and  maul-stick,  and  taking  off  the  hand- 
kerchief rolled  carelessly  around  his  head  (painters,  at 
that  time,  wore  this  head-dress  in  their  studios  instead 
of  caps),  he  went  straight  up  to  his  uncle,  and,  forciu^' 
him  to  interrupt  his  restless  and  noisy  walk,  demanded, 
seriously  and  firmly,  an  explanation  of  his  vague  threats. 

"  Uncle,"  he  said,  "  you  are  acting  as  if  you  wished 
to  drive  me  to  extremities,  but  I  shall  not  forget  the  ro 
spect  I  owe  you.  I  beg  you,  however,  to  remember  that 
I  am  not  a  child,  to  be  frightened  by  a  frown  and  loud 
talking.  It  would  be  better  for  all,  if  you  would  see  and 
understand  the  real  state  of  the  case ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  real  grief  that  I  feel  at  having  displeased  you.  Do 
not  ask  me  how  this  misfortune  occurred ;  a  moment's 
forgetfulness,  a  fit  of  absence  of  mind,  cannot  be  ex 
plained ;  since  it  has  occurred,  what  is  to  be  my  pun- 
ishment, or  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  in  expiation  ?  I 
am  ready  to  prove  my  repentance,  or  submit  to  the  con- 
sequences of  my  fault.  Decide,  and  stop  threatening ;  it 
will  be  more  worthy  of  both  of  us." 

M.  Antoine  stood  perfectly  still,  and  tried  to  look  in- 
different ;  but,  in  reality,  he  was  very  much  mortified, 
for  he  could  not  deny  that  the  accused  occupied  a  much 
more  dignified  position,  at  this  moment,  than  the  judge. 
He  felt  afraid,  also,  that  he  had  been  making  himself 
ridiculous ;  and,  at  his  wit's  end,  he  formed  a  diabolical 
plan,  and  resolved  to  carry  it  out. 

"Everything  depends  upon  Madam  d'Estrelle,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  will  do  all  that  I  promised  for  your  mother,  and 
will  pardon  you  as  well,  in  spite  of  your  villanous  con- 


,CX)  ANTONIA. 

duct,  if  she  desires  and  commands  it ;  but  I  will  only  do 
this  on  condition  that  she  keeps  her  word,  and  comes  to- 
morrow to  my  house,  with  your  family." 

''  Very  well,"  said  Marcel ;"  if  it  is  all  arranged,  why 
did  not  you  remind  her  of  the  appointment  just  now?  " 

"  I  am  not  talking  to  you,  lawyer,"  replied  Antoine, 
''be  so  good  as  to  take  yourself  off;  I  want  to  talk  to 
master  Julien  alone." 

"  Talk  to  your  heart's  content,"  said  Marcel ;  "I  am 
glad  enough  to  go,  for  they  have  been  expecting  me  at 
my  house  for  more  than  an  hour.  I  will  return  after  a 
while,  and  find  out  what  you  have  decided." 

When  Julieii  was  alone  with  his  uncle,  the  latter 
assumed  a  solemn  manner,  that  was  even  more  comical 
than  his  previous  rage. 

''  Listen  !  "  he  said  ;  "  I  want  you  to  do  an  errand  for 
me.     You  must  go  to  the  hotel  d'Estrelle." 

"  Excuse  me,  uncle,  I  cannot  go  there.  I  should  not 
be  admitted." 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  that  you  would  not  be  ad 
mitted.  But  you  can  carry  a  letter  there  ;  you  can  wait 
for  the  reply  in  the  ante-chamber,  and  bring  it  back  to 
me." 

*'  Nq.yj  well,"  said  Julien,  who  thought  he  would  stop 
at  the  porter's  lodge.     "  Where  is  the  letter?" 

"•  Give  me  writing  materials." 

''  Here  they  are,"  said  Julien,  opening  the  drawer  of 
liis  table. 

The  horticulturist  sat  down,  and  wrote  rapidly.  Julien 
changed  his  working-dress  for  a  coat  which  was  lying 
upon  a  chair,  and  tried  to  conceal  his  impatience  by  so 
doing.     Soon  his  uncle  called  him. 

^'  Do  you  want  a  seal?  "  said  Julien. 

"•  Not  yet.  You  must  correct  my  note.  I  do  not 
pride  myself  upon  being  learned,  and  I  may  have  made 
mistakes  in  orthography.  Read  it :  read  it  alcud,  and 
then  correct  the  points,  the  commas,  —  everything." 

Julien.  who  suspected  some  trick,  cast  a  rapid  glance 
over  the  few  lines  which  his  uncle  had  written  in  a  bold 
hand.     A  mist  passed  before  his  eyes,  and  he  came  very 


antonia:*^        ;    .  r  . ,  '* ;  ^'» 

uear  crushing  the  paper  with  indignation  ;  but  he  imag- 
ined that  this  whimsical  and  extravagant  old  man  had 
written  this  letter  only  so  as  to  make  him  betray  his 
secret.  He  restrained  himself,  therefore,  met  the  scruti- 
nizing gaze  fastened  ferociously  upon  him  without  blench- 
ing, and  read  the  contents  of  the  note  with  a  firm  voice : 

"  Madame  and  Friend,  — 

"  We  were  so  confused  at  our  last  interview,  that  we 
parted  without  coming  to  an  understanding  about  our 
arrangements  for  to-morrow.  I  will  not  conceal  from 
you  that  your  presence  at  my  little  fete  will  give  me  new 
hope,  and  that  I  shall  consider  your  absence  as  the  sign 
of  a  breach  between  us,  or  an  unfortunate  delay  of 
your  decision.  I  have  told  you  that  I  did  not  wish  to  be 
trifled  with,  and  you  have  promised  me  to  be  sincere. 
Night  brings  wisdom.  I  shall  depend  upon  to-morrow 
to  confirm  the  hopes  you  have  allowed  me  to  enter- 
tain. 

"  Your  friend  and  servant,  who  is  impatient  to  call  him- 
self your  fianc6, 

"  Antoine  Thierry." 

''  Very  well,"  replied  the  horticulturist,  when  Julien 
had  finished  reading  it,  "  are  there  any  faults?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,  a  great  many,"  said  Julien,  quietly  tak- 
ing his  pen. 

"  Softly !  Don't  let  the  corrections  be  seen.  Be 
careful ! " 

"  It  is  all  done.     Seal  it,  and  write  the  address." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  said  his  uncle,  writing 
Madam  d'Estrelle's  name  upon  the  envelope. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Julien.  "I  don't  believe 
you  will  send  it." 

"  Will  you  believe  so  if  you  take  the  letter?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  will  you  say  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,     It  is  not  my  affair." 

"  Lianlre  I  it  is  as  much  your  affair  as  mine  I  ^ 

"How  so,  pray?" 


iJOi  ',  '  ^'c  c..\:^\    .ANTONIA. 

"  The  recovery  and  deed  of  gift  of  your  house  at 
Sevres  depend  upon  it." 

"  Very  well,  uncle.  I  thank  you,  then,  with  all  my 
heart." 

"  You  have  an  expression  —  " 

''  I  have  no  expression  at  all.     Look  at  me  !  " 

Antoine  could  not  meet  Julien's  bold  and  penetrating 
glance. 

"  Come  !  be  quick  !  "  he  said,  ill-naturedly ;  "  carry  my 
letter." 

"  I  fly  to  do  so,"  replied  Julien. 

He  took  his  hat. 

"  Where  shall  I  bring  you  the  answer?" 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the  street,  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel,  and  you  can  bring  it  to  me  there  ;  we  will  go  out 
together." 

They  left  the  house.  Julien  went  straight  to  the  por- 
ter's lodge,  his  uncle  keeping  him  in  sight ;  but,  instead 
of  giving  the  letter  to  the  porter,  as  he  had  intended  doing 
at  first,  he  informed  him  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  the 
valet-de-chambre,  and  crossed  the  court  rapidly.  When 
he  reached  the  ante-chamber,  he  gave  his  message  ;  and, 
like  a  man  who  does  not  expect  to  be  admitted,  sat  down 
on  a  bench  to  wait ;  he  said  to  the  valet,  however,  — 

"  Inform  the  countess  that  there  is  a  reply,  and  that  the 
nephew  of  M.  Antoine  Thierry  is  here  to  carry  it  to 
him." 

After  a  moment's  delay,  the  valet  returned  and 
said, — 

"  The  countess  would  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions  , 
be  so  good  as  to  come  this  way." 

He  opened  a  side  door,  and  led  the  way.  Julien  fol- 
lowed him  into  a  dark  hall ;  the  valet  opened  another 
door  leading  into  a  large  apartment,  brought  a  chair,  and 
retired. 

Julien  found  himself  in  a  beautiful  dining-room,  oppo- 
site the  principal  door.  In  another  moment  this  door 
opened,  and  Madam  d'Estrelle  entered.  She  looked  pale 
and  agitated. 

"I  receive  you  in  this  room,"  she  said,  "because! 


ANTONIA. 


103 


have  company  in  the  drawing-room,  and  I  cannot  refer 
to  the  subject  that  brings  you  here,  before  others.  Did 
M.  Antoine  give  you  this  letter?" 

"  Yes,  madam.'* 

''  You  have  not  read  it,  of  course?" 

"  I  have,  madam." 

"  And  you  undertook  the  commissipn?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

'•Why  so?" 

''  To  find  out  whether  my  uncle  is  a  fool,  who  ought  to 
be  under  lock  and  key,  or  whether  he  is  atrociously 
wicked." 

"  In  other  words,  —  you  were  not  sure,  —  you  wished 
to  find  out,  —  whether  I  had  given  him  the  right  to  send 
me  such  a  letter  ?  " 

"I  did  not  suppose  such  a  thing  possible,  and  I  took  it 
for  granted  that  you  would  send  me  away  without  an  an- 
swer." 

"And  since  I  receive  you,  —  you  conclude  —  " 

"  Nothing,  madam,  excepting  that  it  is  unnecessary 
cruelty  to  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"  Why  should  you  feel  such  an  interest  ?  —  What 
account  do  I  owe  to  you  —  ?  " 

"  Ah,  madam,  do  not  speak  in  that  tone,"  cried  Julien, 
almost  beside  himself.  ''  Either  you  have  disregarded 
the  antipathy  that  you  must  feel  for  such  a  man,  on  ac- 
count of  my  uncle's  wealth,  —  and  in  that  case  I  have 
absolutely  nothing  to  say,  —  or  you  have  endured  his  inso- 
lent offer  with  a  patience  that  has  deceived  him  ;  and,  if 
this  is  so,  I  can  easily  understand  the  cause  of  your  pa- 
tience,—  your  goodness.  You  were  afraid  that  M.  An- 
toine would  visit  his  resentment  upon  us." 

''  It  is  true,  M.  Julien  :  I  thought  of  your  mother,  and 
avoided  making  a  repl)'  ;  I  asked  time  for  reflection  ;  I 
hoped  that,  to  please  me,  he  would  keep  his  word,  and 
restore  Madam  Thierry  to  comfort  and  happiness.  It 
was  wrong,  perhaps,  for  I  am  naturally  sincere,  and  I 
failed  to  be  so  in  this  case.  But  how  could  I  suppose 
that  this  violent  and  ill-mannered  old  man  would  begin 
by  trying  to  compromise  me  ?     And  yet  he  has  done  so, 


I04  antonia. 

and  God  only  knows  what  will  be  the  end  of  this  dis- 
agreeable affair !  But  I  ought  not  to  think  about  that. 
Since  my  negotiations  in  your  favor  have  failed,  it  is  sel- 
fish in  me  to  complain  of  my  own  troubles.  In  fact,  I 
regret  more  than  anything  else  that  I  shall  no  longer  be 
able  to  serve  you,  after  being  the  cause  of  a  great  dis- 
aster. What  is  to  be  done  with  a  man  who  mistakes  my 
fear  for  coquetry,  and  my  silence  for  an  avowal?  " 

Julien  fell  upon  his  knees  ;  and,  as  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
alarmed  and  surprised,  was  about  to  fly,  he  said,  — 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  madam ;  this  is  not  a  theatrical 
declaration  ;  I  am  not  a  madman,  and  I  am  performing  a 
serious  duty  in  thanking  you,  upon  my  knees,  in  my 
mother's  name.  Gratitude  for  such  goodness  as  yours 
must  be  expressed,  not  by  words,  but  by  adoration. 
Now,"  added  Julien,  rising,  "  I  must  also  tell  you  that  I 
am  a  man,  and  that  I  should  despise  myself  if  my  love, 
even  for  the  most  tender  of  mothers,  could  induce  me  to 
accept  the  sacrifice  that  you  propose.  No,  madam,  no. 
You  must  show  no  consideration  for  M.  Antoine  Thierry ; 
you  must  not  allow  him  to  suppose,  for  an  instant  longer, 
that  he  can  aspire,  —  poor  man  !  he  is  a  fool ;  but  fools 
must  be  held  in  check,  like  troublesome  and  badly  be- 
haved children.  I  will  undertake  this  duty,  and  I  will  go 
at  once,  with  your  permission,  to  disabuse  him  forever." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu^  you  yourself?  "  said  Julie.  "  No  !  do 
not  drive  him  to  desperation,  I  will  write  —  " 

"  And  for  my  part,"  replied  Julien,  proudly,  and  with  a 
burst  of  passion  that  did  not  displease  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
"  I  will  not  allow  you  to  write.  Do  you  suppose  that  I 
am  such  a  child  as  to  be  afraid  of  his  anger,  or  so  great 
a  coward  as  to  allow  you  to  be  exposed  to  his  importuni- 
ties ?  Do  you  think  that  my  mother,  any  more  than  my- 
self, would  accept  favors  that  would  cost  you  the  shadow 
of  a  falsehood?  We  would  give  our  lives  to  save  you 
from  the  least  suffering  ;  and  is  it  your  place  to  suffer  and 
to  be  persecuted  for  us?  No,  madam,  understand  us 
belter.  My  mother's  sentiments  are  as  noble  as  your 
own  ;  it  was  with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  she  agreed 
to  accept  M.  Antoine's  assistance.    At  present,  she  would 


/ 


ANTONIA. 


105 


blu.^h  to  do  so  ;  she  will  abhor  the  thought  of  his  benefits, 
vvhen  she  knows  what  they  would  cost  you.  As  for  me, 
I  am  nothing,  and  will  never  be  anything  in  your  life  ; 
but  let  a  man,  speaking  from  his  heart,  assure  you  that 
ho  has  no  fear,  either  of  poverty,  or  vengeance,  or  any 
sort  of  persecution.  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  will  con- 
tinue to  do  it ;  I  will  support  my  mother  until  her  last 
breath  ;  I  would  fight  with  the  universe,  if  it  were  neces- 
sary, for  her  sake.  Do  not  be  troubled,  therefore,  about 
her  fate,  you  who  love  her  so  well.  If  she  had  nothing 
else,  she  would  prefer  your  friendship  to  all  M.  Antoine's 
wealth.  For  my  part,  it  is  enough  for  me  to  have  been 
allowed  the  privilege  of  telling  you  '  1  love  you  *  in  this 
one  moment  of  my  life,  without  offending  you  and  without 
seeming  insane :  this  recollection  will  always  make  me 
proud  and  happy  ;  I  am  speaking  to  your  soul,  and  there  is 
no  feeling  in  my  heart  that  is  not  worthy  of  you.  Adieu, 
madam !  Live  happy  and  tranquil ;  and  if  you  ever 
want  some  task  performed  that  others  find  impossible, 
remember  there  is  a  man  living  who  will  do  it,  —  a  man 
poor,  humble,  unknown,  but  able  to  move  mountains ; 
for,  when  he  is  striving  for  his  mother  or  for  you,  he  is 
Avill,  —  he  is  faith  in  person." 

Without  seeking  or  waiting  for  an  ans^wer,  Julien  went 
out,  and  was  in  the  street  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Antoine  was  waiting  for  him  with  feverish  impatience  ; 
he  was  just  about  rushing  into  the  house  like  a  bomb- 
shell, when  Julien  reappeared. 

"  80  you  have  come!"  he  cried ;  "the  answer  must 
be  at  least  four  pages  long.     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Come  a  little  farther  off",  monsieur,"  replied  Julien, 
taking  his  arm,  and  leading  him  across  the  street ;  "  there 
is  so  much  noise  here,  that  we  cannot  hear  our  own 
voices," 

They  went  into  an  open  lot,  where  there  was  a  placard 
bearing  the  inscription,  — ''  Land  for  sale.''  Julien  con- 
tinued, — 

''  Madam  d'Estrelle  read  your  letter,  uncle,  and  having 
done  so,  summoned  me  into  her  presence,  and  intrusted 
me  with  a  verbal  answer." 


io6  ANTONIA, 

"Verbal?" 

"  And  brief." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  When  you  offered  the  countess  your  hand,  she  iinag'* 
ined  that  you  were  out  of  your  senses,  and  was  afraid  of 
being  alone  with  you  ;  she  promised  to  reflect,  so  as  to 
get  rid  of  you.  In  point  of  fact,  she  needed  no  time  for 
reflection,  and  this  is  her  answer :  she  regrets  that  she 
will  be  unable  to  come  to  your  house  to-morrow,  and  she 
sends  you  word  that,  from  this  time,  she  will  not  be  at 
home  when  you  call." 

"  Is  she  going  away?     Where  is  she  going?" 

"  It  is  not  my  place  to  explain  her  message  ;  you  must 
understand  it." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  my  formal  dismissal?  " 

"  So  it  would  seem." 

"And  she  commissions  you  to  inform  me?  " 

"  No ;  I  undertook  to  do  so  without  asking  her  con- 
sent." 

"  Why  so,  —  I  should  like  to  know." 

"  You  already  know,  monsieur.  Did  you  not  tell  me 
that  my  mother's  fortune  and  mine  depended  upon  the 
encouragement  given  by  Madam  d'Estrelle  to  your  mat- 
rimonial hopes  ?  It  was  for  this  reason  that  I  seized  so 
eagerly  the  excuse  you  gave  me  for  going  to  her  house  ; 
I  hoped  the  strange  character  of  your  letter  would  in- 
duce her  to  grant  me  an  interview.  You  did  not  foresee 
that?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  mordieu  ! "  cried  M.  Antoine  ;  "  I 
said  to  myself  plainly,  that  that  very  thing  would  hap- 
pen, if — " 

"If  what,  sir?" 

"  If  I  had  guessed  correctly.     I  understand  now." 

"  For  my  part,  I  do  not  understand." 

"  It  is  the  same  to  me." 

"Excuse  me,  will  you  allow  me  to  guess?  You  im- 
agined that  I  was  such  a  fool,  such  a  madman,  such  an 
impertinent  fop,  as  to  aspire  to  attract  the  attention  of 
this  lady?" 

"  And  now  I  am  sure  of  it !     You  have  declared  your 


ANTONIA.  107 

Bcntiments,  —  your  triumphant  manner  tells  me  so  !  You 
are  rubbing  your  hands  with  joy,  to  think  that  you  have 
occasioned  my  defeat.  You  will  tell  the  story  to  your 
dear  mother !  You  will  say  to  her,  'The  rich  man  is 
cheated !  He  thought  to  throw  us  a  morsel  of  bread, 
and  take  a  young  wife  ;  he  was  going  to  turn  us  into  rid- 
icule, and  disinherit  us.  Look  at  him !  He  has  only 
succeeded  in  covering  himself  with  shame.  He  will  grow 
old  alone,  he  will  die  an  old  bachelor,  and,  in  spite  of 
him,  we  shall  be  rich.* " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  replied  Julien,  with  perfect 
self-possession ;  "I  have  never  made  any  such  ignoble 
calculations,  and  never  will  do  so.  You  may  marry  to- 
morrow, if  you  choose,  and  marry  whom  you  choose  ;  I 
shall  be  delighted,  provided  that  you  do  not  compromise  my 
dignity,  and  my  mother's,  in  the  transaction.  I  wished  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  saying  this  to  Madam  d'Estrelle  ; 
I  repeat  it  to  you.  And  now  I  have  only  to  recall  that 
you  are  my  uncle,  and  to  take  leave  of  you  with  due 
respect." 

Julien  bowed  deeply  to  M.  Antoine,  and  was  turning 
away.     The  latter  called  him  back  imperiously. 

"And  my  lily  ?  "  he  cried,  "  who  will  pay  me  for  that?" 

"  Name  the  price,  sir." 

"  Five  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  Are  you  talking  seriously?" 

"  You  ask  me  whether  I  am  talking  seriously?" 

*'  I  believe  you,  knowing  that  you  would  be  incapable 
of  deceiving  any  one  who  trusts  you." 

"  Base  flattery  !  " 

The  face  of  the  young  artist  flushed  ;  he  looked  steadily 
at  M.  Antoine,  and  tried  to  pursuade  himself  that 
he  was  so  insane  that  a  man  in  his  senses  ought  not 
to  mind  his  invectives.  Antoine  read  his  thought,  and 
tried  to  be  more  calm. 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  he  said,  "  let  it  pass.  I  will 
go  take  tlie  ruin  and  the  picture ;  my  loss  is  the  price 
that  I  must  pay  for  my  goodness  and  confidence  ;  it  will 
teach  me  to  be  true,  hereafter,  to  my  own  ideas  and  prin- 
ciples.    Luud  the  way,  and  not  another  word !  " 


io8  ANTONIA. 

They  returned  to  the  studio.  Silent  as  personified 
spite,  M.  Antoine  took  up  the  plant,  the  broken  stalk, 
and  the  picture,  and,  without  allowing  any  one  to  help 
him,  without  looking  at  Julien  or  moving  his  lips,  he 
left  the  pavilion  never  to  enter  it  again. 

Marcel  soon  returned,  to  learn  what  had  happened  ; 
and  Julien,  with  frank  sincerity,  told  him  everything  ia 
Madam  Thierry's  presence. 

"  Now,"  he  added,  "  I  know  that  my  thoughtless  con- 
duct has  caused  you  great  anxiety.  You  have  thought 
me  as  foolish  as  uncle  Antoine,  and  my  mother  is  fright- 
ened about  a  sentiment  that  she  imagines  will  be  fatal  to 
me.  Undeceive  yourself,  and  recover  your  tranquillity, 
dear  mother  ;  and  you,  Marcel,  give  me  back  the  respect 
to  which  I  am  entitled,  as  a  reasonable  man.  One  can 
be  so,  in  spite  of  committing  an  imprudence ;  and  I 
acknowledge  that  I  was  very  thoughtless  in  ojQTering  our 
benefactress  an  object  that  did  not  belong  to  me.  It 
was  a  misplaced  outburst  of  gratitude,  but  she  was 
not  shocked,  because  she  saw  that  my  feeling  was 
worthy  of  her,  and  was  perfectly  respectful.  I  flatfer 
myself  that  she  is  more  than  ever  persuaded  of  this,  since 
granting  me  an  interview,  and  I  swear  to  both  of  you,  by 
everything  that  is  most  sacred,  —  by  filial  love  and  faith- 
ful friendship,  —  that  there  shall  be  nothing  in  my  future 
conduct  by  which  Madam  d'Estrelle  can  be  annoyed,  or 
you  afflicted.  Do  not  regret  the  house  at  Sevres,  my 
dear  mother  ;  we  can  do  without  it !  At  all  events,  you 
don't  want  Madam  d'Estrelle  to  become  Madam  Antoine 
Thierry  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  it,  and  you  certainly 
don't  suppose  that  such  a  thing  could  have  happened.  As 
for  you,  my  dear  Marcel,  I  thank  you  for  all  the  trouble 
you  have  taken  ;  but  you  must  be  thoroughly  convinced 
that  your  efforts  are  thrown  away,  and  that  uncle  An- 
toine will  never  give  anything  without  an  equivalent. 
Let  us  be  composed,  and  resume  the  course  of  life  which 
this  bad  dream  of  fortune  interrupted.  I  have  still  my 
hands  to  work  with,  and  a  heart  with  which  to  cherish 
you  ;    and  believe  me,  from  to  day  I  shall  be  more  active, 


ANTONIA, 


169 


more  courageous,    and   surer   of  the    future   than    ever 
before." 

Julien  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  not  making  a  dis- 
play of  courage  to  reassure  his  mother.  Although  far 
from  being  tranquil,  he  felt  strong  :  his  two  interviews 
with  Julie,  succeeding  each  other  so  rapidly,  had  given  a 
new  direction  to  his  thoughts,  —  a  new  impulse  to  his 
soul. 

Inspired  by  her  presence,  he  had  expressed,  imexpect- 
cdly  and  without  premeditation,  his  noble  and  devoted 
passion.  He  was  sure  that  he  had  opened  his  heart  to  her 
freely,  and  that  she  had  neither  been  alarmed  nor  offended. 
Did  he  believe  that  she  loved  him?  No;  but  he  felt 
vaguely,  perhaps,  that  she  did,  and  his  heart  was  thrilled 
with  a  mysterious  ecstasy.  Naturally  inclined  to  an 
ideal  euthuj^iasm  and  self-sacrifice,  he  did  not  shrink 
from  the  part  that  he  felt  called  upon  to  perform.  What 
he  had  said,  he  meant  to  do,  and  he  was  strong  enough 
to  do  it.  To  love  in  silence,  —  to  hope,  seek,  strive  but 
for  one  thing, — the  opportunity  of  proving  his  devo- 
tion,—  this  was  his  plan,  his  will,  his  confession  of  faith, 
as  it  were. 

"  I  may  have  to  suffer  a  great  deal  for  the  present," 
he  thought ;  "  but  it  will  give  me  so  much  joy  to  suffer 
nobly,  and  hide  my  love  for  her  sake,  that  I  shall  rise 
above  my  misery,  and  my  mother  will  no  longer  be  af- 
flicted. In  the  struggle  between  my  passions  and  duties, 
I  must  be  really  great.  And  why  not  ?  I  have  always 
loved  noble  ai^pirations  and  elevated  sentiments,  and 
ought,  therefore,  to  be  equal  to  the  trial.  Since  I  am  a 
man,  and  believe  we  can  best  fulfil  our  duties  in  a 
domestic  life,  I  suppose  I  shall  do  some  day  as  Marcel 
has  done  :  marry  a  good  woman,  who  thenceforth  will  be 
my  best  friend.  Up  to  that  time,  I  will  live  free  and 
pure.  This  noble  Julie,  wJio  can  never  be  mine,  I  will 
love  without  hope,  and,  if  possible,  without  desire ;  I 
will  love  her  with  a  sublime,  fraternal  friendship,  and  will 
seek  inspiration  in  this  sentiment.  Others  will  regard 
me  merely  as  a  gentle,  patient  artist,  seeking  grace  and 
bloom  in  baskets  of  roses ;  but,  by  studying  the  diviu»< 


no  ANTONIA. 

mystery  of  purity  in  the  bosom  of  flowers,  one  may  leam 
to  comprehend  the  sanctity  of  love.  It  seems  to  me  that 
there  is  something  great  in  being  able  to  say  to  yourself 
that  you  might  seek  to  win  a  beloved  woman,  and  love 
her  too  well  to  wish  to  do  so.  My  life  will  be  one  of 
meditation  and  sentiment,  and  to  this  life  I  will  be  true 
as  long  as  possible.  I  will  live  in  my  thoughts  as 
others  do  in  their  acts,  and  perhaps  I  shall  be  happier 
than  any  one  else.  My  enthusiasm  will  not  be  wasted 
upon  delusions.  I  shall  live  in  constant  communion  with 
the  beautiful,  the  pure,  the  great :  more  fortunate  in  this 
than  my  poor  father,  who  felt  this  longing,  and  thought  to 
satisfy  it  by  external  luxury,  and  the  society  of  distin- 
guished people,  I  shall  not  require  so  much  ;  and,  asking 
only  the  approval  of  my  conscience,  shall  really  be  richer 
than  he." 

In  casting  himself  thus,  of  his  own  accord,  into  the 
regions  of  the  ideal,  Julien  obeyed  a  secret  inclination 
that  had  been  developed  in  him  at  an  early  day.  He  had 
received  an  excellent  education,  and  had  not  only  studied 
his  art  with  enthusiasm,  but  had  read  a  great  deal.  His 
severe  enthusiasm  would  not  allow  him  to  enjoy  all  sub- 
jects indiscriminately,  or  to  take  pleasure  in  every  style. 
Among  all  the  authors  who  had  nourished  his  youth, 
the  great  Corneille  was  the  one  whom  he  had  read 
with  the  most  satisfaction  and  benefit.  It  was  in  his 
works  that  he  had  found  the  noblest  aspirations,  the  most 
heroic  sentiments,  clothed  in  the  most  elevated  forms. 
He  preferred  his  teachings  displayed  in  action,  —  the 
picture  that  he  presented  of  great  virtues  embodied  in 
living  characters,  —  to  the  discussions  of  contemporane- 
ous philosophy. 

We  do  not  mean  that  he  disdained  the  spirit  of  his  age, 
or  held  himself  aloof  from  the  prodigious  movement  that 
was  going  on  at  that  time  in  ideas.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  cue  of  the  robust  products  of  this  epoch,  so  unique  in 
history  for  its  grand  illusions,  leading  the  way  to  formid- 
able resolutions.  The  last  days  of  the  monarchy  had 
come,  but  very  few  persons  were  thinking  of  overthrow- 
in<j  it.     Julien,  at  least,  was  not  among  the  number  who 


ANTONIA.  1 1 1 

cherished  this  dream.  He  was  far  enough  from  attempt- 
ing any  enterprise  whatever  of  a  political  nature.  For 
his  part,  he  was  intoxicated  by  the  discoveries  and  dreams 
of  moral  science  and  of  natural  science,  recently  extri- 
cated in  great  blocks,  as  it  were,  from  the  quarries  of  the 
past.  Legrange,  Bailly,  Lalande,  Berthollet,  Monge, 
Condorcet,  Lavoisier,  had  already  revolutionized  thought. 
When  we  glance  at  the  rapid  succession  of  fortunate  efforts 
that,  in  a  few  years,  had  transformed  astrology  into  as- 
tronomy, alchemy  into  chemistry,  and,  along  the  whole 
line  of  human  knowledge,  had  replaced  blind  prejudice 
by  experimental  analysis,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the 
philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  warring  against 
superstition,  had  freed  individual  genius  from  its  fetters,  a8 
well  as  the  religious  and  social  conscience  of  peoples.  And 
what  audacity,  what  enthusiasm,  what  intoxication  in 
these  first  flights  towards  the  future  !  The  human  mind 
had  just  saluted  the  sun  of  progress,  and  already  imag 
ined  that  it  had  taken  possession  of  all  its  rays.  The 
first  montgolfiere  balloon  had  scarcely  risen  upon  its 
wings  of  fire,  when  two  men  ventured  to  cross  the  chan- 
nel. At  once  humanity  cried,  '•  We  are  masters  of  the 
atmosphere,  we  are  inhabitants  of  heaven ! " 

At  the  very  time  when  our  story  chances  to  occur,  the 
new  idea  of  the  age,  just  starting  in  its  noble  career,  had 
been  summed  up  in  the  word  'perfectibility.  Condorcet 
had  made  a  magnificent  outline  of  the  doctrine,  and, 
without  allowing  for  human  weakness,  urged  its  infinite 
destiny.  He  believed  in  the  infinite  to  such  an  extent, 
that  he  even  hoped  to  discover  the  secret  for  annihilating 
death  itself,  and  all  readers  and  thinkers  were  beginning 
to  believe  with  him  in  the  indefinite  prolongation  of  phys- 
ical life.  Parmentier  believed  that  he  had  exorcised  for- 
ever the  spectre  of  famine,  by  acclimating  the  potato. 
Mesmer  thought  that  he  had  discovered  a  mysterious 
agent,  the  source  of  everything  wonderful.  Saint  Mar- 
tin announced  the  regeneration  of  the  soul,  and  dissipated 
the  terrors  of  the  old  dogmas  with  the  dogma  of  infinite 
light.  Cagliostro  pretended  to  resuscitate  magic  in  a 
natural   and   comprehensible   manner.      In  a  word,  aU 


112  ANTONIA. 

minds,  the  most  practical  as  well  as  the  most  romantic, 
were  intoxicated  by  the  wildest  dreams  of  the  future, 
and,  amid  this  over-excitement,  the  present  seemed  au 
obstacle  quite  unworthy  of  any  notice.  The  old  mon- 
archy, the  inflexible  clerfxy,  were  still  erect,  and  were 
endeavoring  to  seize  again  the  power  that  was  slipping 
from  them ;  bat  liberty  had  just  been  inaugurated  in 
America,  and  France  felt  that  her  day  was  near.  No 
bloodshed  was  anticipated.  Delightful  chimeras  excluded 
ideas  of  vengeance.  Upon  the  eve  of  a  terrible  storm, 
the  people  rejoiced,  and  a  mysterious  fever  of  ideas  pre- 
pared for  the  magnificent  outburst  of  '89. 

Julien  was  full  of  all  that  eager  faith  and  resolution 
that  seem  to  descend  providentially  upon  the  earth  at 
periods  preliminary  to  great  conflicts  ;  but  there  was  a 
certain  tranquillity  about  him,  due  to  his  habits,  training, 
and  also  to  his  natural  disposition.  He  could  not  have 
argued  about  it ;  but  one  of  his  marked  characteristics 
was  a  philosophical  mysticism,  and  a  sort  of  inward  ne- 
cessity of  sacrificing  himself.  If  he  had  not  loved  a 
woman,  he  would  have  loved  liberty  with  fanaticism. 
Love  was  revealed  to  him  under  the  form  of  devotion. 
As  soon  as  Julie's  image  filled  his  soul,  he  thought  of 
himself  merely  as  a  force  whose  office  was  to  serve  and 
protect  Julie.  Did  the  idea  occur  to  him  that  she  might 
and  ought  to  belong  to  him?  Yes,  undoubtedly,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  in  a  confused,  and  sometimes  in  an  impe- 
rious manner ;  but  he  resisted  it  bravely.  He  had  no 
prejudices,  and  was  not  like  uncle  Antoine,  dazzled  by  the 
rank,  title,  and  elegance  of  the  countess  ;  he  knew  Julie's 
mediocre  birth,  and  the  embarrassed  state  of  her  finances. 
He  considered  himself,  moreover,  her  equal ;  for  he  was 
one  of  those  men  of  the  third  estate,  filled  with  a  legiti- 
mate and  obstinate  pride,  who  were  beginning  to  say,  — 
The  third  estate  is  everything  ;  as  people  said  afterwards, — 
The  people  is  everything  ;  as  some  day  —  without  rejecting 
any  form  of  nobility,  whether  coming  from  the  sword, 
the  robe,  the  workshop,  or  the  plough  —  they  will  say, — 
The  individual  is  everything.  Julien  did  not  consider 
Madam  d'Estrelle  as  a  woman  placed  above  him  by  cir- 


ANTON  I  A,  113 

cumstances,  but  by  her  personal  merit.  That  merit  he 
very  probably  exaggerated.  It  is  the  privilege  of  love  to 
see  the  objects  of  its  worship  through  the  medium  of  the 
ideal,  and  to  consider  itself  called  upon  to  make  conquests 
of  divinities.  Thus,  an  admirable  humility  and  bound- 
less pride  were  united  in  his  passion. 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  a  woman,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "I  must  become  so:  and  when,  by  being  patient, 
disinterested,  devoted  and  respectful,  I  have  made  myself 
worthy  of  her,  —  ah,  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  feel  that  I 
have  the  right  to  say,  —  '  Love  me  !  * " 

Sometimes  he  asked  himself  whether  this  day  would 
come  before  Julie's  life  had  been  disposed  of  by  the  un- 
expected circumstances  of  the  future  ;  and  to  this  doubt 
he  answered,  — 

"Supposing  that  it  is  so,  she  will  respect  me,  —  per- 
haps will  feel  a  friendship  for  me,  —  and  the  time  I  have 
consecrated  to  governing  myself  nobly,  will  not  have  been 
thrown  away." 

Madam  Thierry,  therefore,  was  both  surprised  and  de- 
lighted to  see  that  her  son,  from  the  very  day  of  the  great 
catastrophe,  suddenly  recovered  his  cheerfulness,  and 
every  appearance  of  moral  and  physical  health. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said  to  Marcel,  as  she  was  talking 
with  him  alone,  "  I  scarcely  dare  acknowledge  what  is  in 
my  mind  ;  but  he  looks  so  happy  !  Mon  Dieu  I  do  you 
think  it  can  be  possible  ?  " 

"What?"  said  Marcel.  "Oh,  yes,  —  his  visit  to 
Madam  d'Estrelle  !  There  is  no  saying,  my  good  aunt ; 
he  is  handsome  and  amiable  enough  to  please  a  great 
lady  ;  but  the  countess  is  ruined,  and  can  only  be  relieved 
from  her  embarrassments  by  a  rich  marriage.  We  ought 
to  wish  to  see  her  well  married,  provided  that  her  hus- 
band is  not  too  old  a  man.  She  is  not  determined  and 
courageous,  as  you  were,  and,  besides,  the  step  that  suc- 
ceeded in  your  case  is  usually  a  failure.  An  absorbing 
passion  is  a  number  that  draws  once  out  of  a  hundred 
thousand  times  in  the  lottery  of  destiny.  Do  not  desire 
to  see  it  tried,  either  by  Julien  or  the  countess." 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  anything  of  the  kind ;  it  is  too 
8 


114 


ANTONIA. 


hazardous,  in  fact ;  but  supposing  she  loves  him :  what 

will  happen  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know ;  but  she  is  virtuous,  and  he  is  an 
honest  man  :  they  would  both  suffer.  It  would  be  better 
if  they  could  be  separated." 

"  That  is  what  I  said  at  first.  And  yet  what  a  pity ! 
They  are  both  so  beautiful,  so  young  and  so  good  !  Ah  ! 
fate  is  sometimes  very  unjust !  If  my  poor  husband  had 
left  him  our  fortune,  Julien  would  have  been  a  good 
match  for  her,  since  she  is  poor,  and  has  no  family  pride. 
Alas !  God  pardon  me !  This  is  the  first  time  that  I 
have  ever  blamed  my  Andre  !  Do  not  speak  of  it  again. 
Marcel,  —  never  again  !  " 

•■'  We  must  reflect,  however,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
"  and  not  allow  the  fire  in  Julien's  heart  to  blaze  too 
high ;  to-day  it  is  an  illumination,  probably  because  he 
hopes  ;   to-morrow  will  be  the  conflagration." 

"  What  shall  we  do  then,  Marcel?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  could  find  out  what  Madam 
d'Estrelle  feels,  and,  above  all,  learn  about  uncle  Antoine  ; 
for  I  am  not  deceived  by  his  pretended  philosophy,  and 
I  fear  — " 

"What  do  you  fear?" 

''  Everything  !  With  such  a  man,  what  may  we  not 
expect  ?  " 

The  emotions  of  this  eventful  day  made  Madam  d'Es- 
trelle almost  ill.  Julien's  visit  completely  unnerved  her  ; 
but,  when  he  had  gone,  the  sort  of  fever  into  which  she 
had  been  thrown  by  M.  Antoine's  proposal,  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  languor  that  was  not  without  sweetness. 

"  Every  one  would  laugh  at  me,"  she  said,  "  for  feel- 
ing such  confidence  in  the  word  of  a  man  whom  I  have 
known  only  for  a  few  hours  ;  and  yet  I  am  certain  that 
he  is  my  friend,  —  my  true  friend.  But  ought  I  to  ac- 
cept this  ardent  friendship  ?  Will  it  not  be  dangerous  for 
him  and  for  me  ?  It  is  true  that  he  did  not  ask  me  to 
accept  it.  He  went  away  like  a  person  who  relies  upon 
himself  alone,  and  who  loves  without  asking  permission. 
Since  he  says  that  he  has  no  hope,  has  he  not  the  right  to 
love  ?     And  how,  indeed,  could  I  prevent  him  ?  " 


ANTONIA.  1x5 

Julie  knew  perfectly  well,  in  her  own  heart,  that  she 
ought  not  to  have  received  Jiilien,  after  what  Madam 
Thierry  had  told  her  of  his  feeling  towards  herself. 

"  In  fact,"  she  said,  "  why  did  I  receive  him  when  my 
first  impulse  was  to  send  this  simple  and  final  message  :  — 
'  There  is  no  answer ! '  That  would  have  freed  me  both 
from  the  uncle  and  nephew.  But  did  the  latter  deserve 
to  be  humiliated  ?  Did  he  not  come  for  the  purpose  of 
defending  his  honor  from  his  uncle's  contemptible  trick- 
eries ?  Had  he  not  the  right  to  tell  me  what  he  did  upon 
this  point  ?  And  if  he  added  a  few  tender  words,  —  too 
tender  for  his  own  good,  perhaps,  —  was  there  anything 
to  wound  me  in  what  he  said  ?  Is  it  my  duty  to  be  of- 
fended ?  I  cannot  tell.  He  offered  himself,  —  he  gave 
himself  to  me,  —  without  seeking  anything  in  return.  He 
did  not  even  give  me  time  to  answer  him.  Whether  I 
wish  it  or  not,  he  has  made  me  a  present  of  his  heart  and 
his  life.  Indeed,  he  did  not  talk  like  a  lover,  but  like  my 
slave,  and  at  the  same  time  my  master.  It  is  all  very 
singular,  and  I  cannot  understand  it.  What  I  feel  for 
him  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  am  certain  of  one  thing,  and 
that  is,  that  I  believe  in  him." 

It  seemed  to  Julie,  as  well  as  to  Madam  Thierry  and 
Marcel,  that  the  morrow  of  this  strange  day  would  be 
marked  by  the  most  important  events.  They  wondered, 
in  vain,  what  M.  Antoine's  spite  would  induce  him  to  do. 
To  their  surprise,  a  number  of  days  passed,  and  no  change 
occurred  in  their  respective  situations.  The  horticul- 
turist had  gone  into  the  country,  but  no  one  knew  where. 
He  had  no  country-seat,  at  least  so  Marcel  thought,  but 
the  lawyer  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  he  knew  all 
about  his  affairs.  When  convinced  that  he  was  really 
absent,  he  became  anxious.  The  people  at  his  house, 
however,  showed  him  orders  written  by  his  hand  which 
the  head  gardener  received  every  day,  giving  precise 
directions  about  the  treatment  of  certain  delicate  plants. 
These  horticultural  bulletins  had  no  date,  and  no  post- 
mark. They  were  brought  by  the  valet-de-chambre  of  the 
ex-ship-owner,  —  an  old  sailor,  throroughly  incorruptible, 
devoted  as  a  negro,  silent  as  a  log. 


ir6  ANTONIA, 

*'What  are  we  to  think?"  said  Marcel  to  Madam 
Thierry ;  "  he  is  probably  in  a  great  rage,  or  he  may 
perhaps  be  ashamed  of  his  folly,  and  feel  like  hiding  for 
a  while.  Let  us  hope  that  he  will  return  cured  of  his 
mania  for  matrimony,  and  that  he  will  make  it  a  point  of 
honor  not  to  break  off  his  negotiations  in  regard  to  the 
pavilion.  The  indemnity  will  be  of  great  service  to  you, 
and  I  cannot  hide  from  you  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  in 
great  need  of  the  sum  that  he  promised  hei.  I  cannot 
imagine  what  venomous  fly  is  stinging  her  creditors,  but 
they  are  beginning  to  show  the  strangest  impatience  and 
anxiety.  They  have  gone  so  far  as  to  threaten  that  they 
will  yield  their  claims  to  a  principal  creditor,  who  will 
certainly  speculate  upon  the  embarrassment  of  my  client ; 
nothing  worse  than  that  could  happen." 

A  few  days  afterwards  he  had  an  interview  with  Mad- 
am d'Estrelle ;  her  father-in-law  was  very  ill,  and  she 
had  just  returned  from  paying  him  a  visit. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  easy,"  he  said ;  "I  fear  that  the 
marquis  will  die  without  settling  your  affairs." 

*'  I  do  not  count  much  upon  his  goodness,"  replied 
Julie,  "  but  I  cannot  believe  that  he  will  leave  me  strug- 
gling with  the  count's  creditors,  when  he  can  so  easily  put 
an  end  to  my  trials.  We  must  make  allowance  for  the 
childish  fear  that  selfish  old  men  feel  of  poverty !  but 
after  him  —  " 

"After  him? — "replied  Marcel,  "the  devil  is  after 
him,  —  I  mean  is  at  his  heels.  His  wife  is  a  terrible 
woman.  I  am  afraid  of  her.  She  does  not  love  you  ;  and, 
since  your  husband  was  not  her  son,  you  have  no  claims 
upon  her." 

"  Mon  Dieu  I  you  see  the  dark  side  of  everything,  my 
dear  lawyer  !  The  marquis  is  neither  very  old  nor  very 
sick.  He  must  have  made  his  will.  The  marchioness 
is  exceedingly  devout,  and  she  will  do  from  a  sense  of 
duty  what  she  would  not  do  out  of  tenderness.  Do  not 
discourage  me,  you  who  have  always  sustained  me." 

"  I  should  not  be  discouraged  myself,  if  I  could  lay 
my  hand  upon  my  whimsical  uncle.  If  he  would  buy 
and  pay  for  the  pavilion,  we  should  gain  a  delay  of  one 


ANTONIA.  117 

or  two  months.  We  should  have  time  to  sell  the  little 
farm  in  Beauvoises,  or  to  yield  it  at  a  moderate  price  ; 
otherwise  it  will  be  seized  brutally,  and  we  shall  lose  al- 
together remnants  of  property  which  are  still  valuable.*' 

Julie,  formerly,  had  been  very  much  troubled  about 
her  precarious  position,  but  she  was  in  a  state  of  utter 
lassitude,  at  present,  that  took  the  place  of  courage.  So 
much  philosophy  did  she  display,  that  Marcel  was  sur- 
prised, and  at  last  became  irritated. 

"  The  devil  take  me ! "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
Madam  Thierry,  "  one  would  swear  that  she  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  be  put  into  the  street." 

Was  this  really  Madam  d'Estrelle's  secret  thought? 
Had  she  said  to  herself  that  if  her  husband's  family 
abandoned  her,  left  her  poor,  she  would  no  longer  owe 
so  much  respect  to  the  name  she  bore  ;  that  she  might 
disappear  from  society,  live  as  she  chose,  marry  accord- 
ing to  her  inclination  ? 

Yes  and  no  !  At  moments  she  abandoned  herself  to 
the  dream  of  obscure  happiness  which  had  come  to  her, 
like  a  delightful  vision,  in  Julien's  studio.  At  other 
times  she  became  the  Countess  d'EstrcUe  again,  and 
asked  herself,  with  terror,  how  she  could  break  away 
from  her  surrouudings  and  habits,  and,  above  all,  endure 
blame  and  contempt ;  she  who,  up  to  this  time,  had  been 
so  great  a  favorite  in  the  small  but  aristocratic  circle  in 
which  she  moved. 

It  is  well  known  that  there  was  at  this  time  a  violent 
and  desperate  reaction  in  the  aristocratic  world  against 
the  invasions  of  philosophy.  Perhaps  no  other  historical 
epoch  presents  such  strange  contrasts  !  On  one  side  pub- 
lic opinion,  queen  of  the  future,  was  proclaiming  doctrines 
of  equality,  scorn  of  social  distinction,  the  philosophy  of 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  of  Voltaire  and  Diderot.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  constituted  authorities,  terrified  by  a  pro- 
gress which  they  had  not  dared  oppose,  were  now  too 
late  trying  a  resistance,  whose  only  effect  was  to  plunge 
them  into  an  abyss.  Still,  to  one  whose  horizon  was  1  inc- 
ited, and  who  could  not  foresee  the  morrow,  this  resist- 
ance appeared  formidable  ;  and  a  timid  and  gentle  woman 


Ii8  ANTONIA. 

like  the  Countess  d'Estrelle,  was  very  naturally  alarmed 
by  it.  Like  all  of  her  class,  she  imagined  that  the  con- 
duct of  the  coui't  would  determine  the  destiny  of  France. 
And  there  were  moments,  just  at  that  time,  when  the 
terrified  king  did  his  best  to  resuscitate  the  monarchy 
of  Louis  XIV.  His  efforts  were  pitiful,  and  utterly  use- 
less ;  but,  regarded  from  a  certain  point  of  view,  they 
appeared  of  sufficient  importance  to  irritate  the  people, 
and  augment  the  pride  of  the  privileged  classes.  The 
court  and  city  had  proclaimed  the  triumph  of  Voltaire  ; 
on  the  day  after  that  triumph,  the  clergy  refused  to  grant 
him  a  tomb.  Mirabeau  had  written  a  chef  d'oeuvre 
against  the  arbitrary  power  of  the  letire  de  cachet.  The 
king  had  said,  in  speaking  of  Beaumarchais,  —  "If  his 
piece  is  played  (the  Marriage  of  Figaro),  the  Bastile 
must  be  torn  down  !  "  The  third  estate  was  constantly 
increasing  in  intelligence,  ambition,  and  real  importance  ; 
the  court  had  reestablished  the  privileges  of  rank  in  the 
army  as  well  as  in  the  clergy,  and  had  decided,  — what 
Cardinal  Richelieu  would  not  have  dared  decide,  —  that 
in  order  to  become  an  officer  or  prelate,  it  should  be  nec- 
essary to  prove  four  generations  of  nobility.  The  Amer- 
ican Constitution  had  just  proclaimed  the  principles  of  the 
Contract  Social  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  ;  Washington 
and  Lafayette  were  dreaming  of  freeing  their  slaves,  and 
the  French  minister  had  granted  new  encouragement  to 
the  slave  trade  ;  the  lower  ranks  of  the  clergy  were 
becoming  more  and  more  democratic,  day  by  day ;  Sor- 
bonne  was  seeking  a  quarrel  with  Buffon,  and  the  higher 
ecclesiastics  had  demanded  a  new  law  for  repressing  the 
art  of  writing  ;  public  opinion  had  raised  its  voice  against 
capital  punishment ;  examination  hy  torture  was  in  full 
vigor.  The  queen  had  protected  Beaumarchais  ;  Raynal 
was  forced  to  become  an  exile. 

These  attempts  at  reaction,  amid  the  general  tenden- 
cies of  the  age,  were  repeated  in  devout  circles.  The 
principal  nobility,  however  they  may  have  differed  in 
other  respects,  agreed  in  blaming  those  of  its  members 
who  allowed  themselves  to  be  seduced  by  the  new  philos- 
ophy.    In  conservative  saloons,  the  king  and  queen  were 


ANTONIA.  119 

overwhelmed  with  curses  and  sarcasms,  as  soon  as  they 
seemed  to  abandon  the  theories  of  the  king's  good  pleas' 
ure.  But,  as  soon  as  they  laid  a  stone  upon  the  feeble 
dam  that  was  erecting  against  the  revolutionary  spirit, 
the  devotees  of  these  circles  renewed  their  allegiance,  and 
imagined  that  everything  was  saved  ;  no  one  suspected  the 
rapidity  of  the  torrent,  and  the  nearness  of  the  overflow. 
Scoffs,  scorns,  and  caricatures  were  the  order  of  the 
day.  The  coming  danger  was  so  utterly  despised,  that 
it  was  laughed  to  scorn. 

The  set  of  people  with  whom  Julie  was  intimate  were 
timid  and  gentle  in  disposition,  like  herself,  and  were 
opposed  to  exaggeration  of  every  kind ;  but,  beyond 
this  little  coterie,  she  felt  the  influence  of  a  larger  and 
more  formidable  circle,  —  that  of  the  family  of  the  Count 
d'Estrelle.  This  haughty  family  disliked  her,  because 
she  silently  resisted  their  tyranny ;  and,  although  she 
avoided  them  as  much  as  possible,  she  suffered  from  the 
consciousness  of  their  displeasure.  Still  beyond  this  for- 
midable circle,  another,  yet  more  powerful  and  more 
threatening,  —  that  of  the  second  wife  of  the  Marquis 
d'Estrelle,  —  cast  a  shadow  over  her  life.  Excessively 
bigoted,  opposed  to  every  sort  of  progress,  despising  the 
philosophers,  openly  hostile  to  the  great  Voltaire  himself, 
imbued  with  all  the  prejudices  of  birth,  and  angrily  occu- 
pied about  the  preservation  of  its  pretended  rights,  —  this 
coterie  inspired  Julie  with  the  greatest  alarm.  Her  fear 
may  have  been  childish,  but  it  was  excessive  and  irre- 
sistible. The  marchioness  was  known  to  be  an  avaricious, 
wicked,  and  treacherous  woman  ;  and  we  have  seen  that 
the  Baroness  d'Ancourt  herself,  in  spite  of  her  conserva- 
tive ideas,  spoke  of  her,  as  well  as  of  her  friends,  with  the 
greatest  aversion.  Julie  was  but  slightly  acquainied 
with  her,  and  tried  to  believe  her  piety  sincere,  but  she 
was  afraid  of  her ;  and  when  she  asked  herself  why  she 
was  living  in  such  a  state  of  timidity  and  melancholy, 
the  disagreeable  spectre  of  this  withered  personage,  with 
green  eyes  and  pitiless  tongue,  appeared  before  her.  It 
was  therefore  out  of  apprehension  that  she  tried  to  defend 
the   marchioness   in   conversation,    and    to   silence   her 


I20  ANTONIA. 

friends  when  they  ventured  to   call  her  a  harpy  and  a 
bird  of  ill-omen. 

It  was  only  natural  that  poor  Julie  should  detest  the 
opinions  of  the  marchioness  and  her  friends,  but  she  was 
too  inexperienced,  and  too  ignorant  of  the  general  spirit  of 
the  age,  to  understand  how  trifling  the  persecutions  would 
be  that  she  would  have  to  brave,  if  she  had  resolved  to  live 
according  to  her  heart  and  conscience.  She  was  shut  up 
in  a  little  cage  of  prejudices,  like  a  bird  who  thinks  that 
the  universe  is  all  a  cage  around  it,  and  who  no  longer 
comprehends  the  murmur  of  the  wind  among  the  trees, 
and  the  flight  of  other  birds  in  space. 

*'  It  may  be  that  there  are  happy  people, "  she  said  to 
herself,  "  but  they  are  far  away !  and  how  can  I  join 
them?" 

Thus  it  is,  upon  the  eve  of  a  terrible  revolution,  that 
the  prisoners  of  the  past  weep  over  their  chains,  and 
think  they  are  riveted  upon  them  for  all  eternity.  Usu- 
ally, however,  Julie  forgot  all  these  questions  of  external 
facts,  to  lose  herself  in  vague  reveries,  and  in  secret 
anxieties,  of  a  new  kind.  We  will  soon  see  what  she  was 
reilectiug  about,  and  how  difficult  it  was  for  this  generous, 
but  timid  heart,  to  enter  into  harmony  with  itself. 

Fifteen  days  had  passed  away  since  the  catastrophe  of 
the  Antonia^  and  Madam  d'Estrelle  had  neither  seen  or 
heard  of  Julien.  She  could  almost  have  imagined  that 
he  had  never  existed,  and  that  her  two  interviews  with 
him  had  been  a  dream.  Madam  Thierry  had  not  entered 
her  garden.  Julie,  very  much  surprised  at  her  absence, 
had  sent  to  inquire  about  her,  and  received  word  that  she 
was  a  little  unwell ;  —  there  was  nothing  serious  the 
matter,  but  she  was  obliged  to  keep  her  room. 

She  questioned  Marcel,  but  without  obtaining  any  sat- 
isfaction ;  he  repeated  that  his  aunt  was  somewhat  indis- 
posed, but  entered  into  no  details.  Julie  dared  not 
question  him  farther  ;  she  saw  plainly  that  her  neighbor 
wanted  to  break  off  every  sort  of  relation,  even  the  most 
indirect,  between  her  son  and  herself.  Finally,  Madam 
Thi*».rry  reappeared  one  morning,  when  the  countess  had 


ANTONIA.  121 

ceased  to  expect  her.  Interrogated  by  Julie  with  timidity 
aud  reserve,  she  replied,  with  affectionate  confidence,  — 

"  My  dear  and  well-beloved  countess,  you  must  par- 
don me  for  having  had  a  bad  dream,  which  is  now 
dissipated.  Too  hasty  in  judging,  I  allowed  myself 
to  be  foolishly  alarmed,  and  alarmed  you  with  my  chi- 
meras. I  believed  that  my  son  had  the  audacity  to  love 
you  ;  believed  it  so  firmly,  that  it  has  required  fifteen 
days  to  disabuse  me  of  the  idea.  Forget  what  I  told 
you,  and  let  my  poor  child  enjoy  once  more  the  respect 
that  he  has  never  ceased  to  deserve.  You  are  not  the 
object  of  his  prayers  and  vows.  He  venerates  you,  as 
he  ought  to  do  ;  he  would  die  for  you,  if  necessary  ;  but 
his  feeling  is  not  a  romantic  passion,  but  an  ardent  and 
true  gratitude.  He  swore  that  it  was  so  ;  I  doubted  his 
word  at  first,  but  I  was  wrong.  I  have  observed,  nay, 
more,  have  watched  him  for  the  last  fifteen  days,  and  I 
am  reassured.  He  eats,  sleeps,  talks ;  he  is  interested 
in  everything,  he  comes  and  goes,  works  cheerfully ;  in 
a  word,  he  is  not  in  love.  He  makes  no  efibrt  to  see 
you,  he  talks  about  you  with  tranquil  admiration,  he  seeks 
no  opportunity  of  attracting  your  attention,  and  will 
never  do  so.  Pardon  me  for  my  folly,  and  love  me  as 
before." 

Julie  accepted  this  statement,  perfectly  sincere  upon 
the  part  of  Madam  Thierry,  with  amiable  satisfaction. 
They  talked  about  other  things,  and  remained  together 
for  an  hour,  after  which  they  separated,  congratulating 
each  other  that  they  would  have  no  further  cause  of 
trouble,  and  would  be  able  to  renew  their  friendship 
without  agitation,  and  without  fearing  that  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  any  one. 

Why  was  it  that  Julie  felt  so  strangely  sad  after  this 
interview?  She  could  not  think  of  any  good  reason  for 
her  melancholy,  aud  laid  the  blame  upon  the  visits 
that  she  had  happened  to  receive.  She  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  her  old  friend  Madam  des  Morges  was  an 
insupportable  gossip,  that  the  old  Duke  de  Quesnoy  was 
tiresome  and  monotonous  as  a  sledge-hammer ;  that  her 
cousin,  the  wife  of  the  president,   was  a  prude,  and  a 


122  ANTON  I  A. 

hypocrite  ;  and  that  the  abbe  (there  was  always  an  abb^ 
in  every  circle  at  that  time)  was  personal  and  insipid. 
Finally,  when  Camille  came  to  make  her  toilette,  she  was 
-TOSS,  and  sent  her  away,  saying,  — 

"What's  the  use?" 

Then  she  recalled  her  capriciously,  and  asked  whether 
the  period  of  her  half-mourning  had  not  ended,  three 
days  before. 

•  "  Yes,  madam,"  said  Camille,  "  it  is  really  over !  And 
madam  is  very  wrong  not  to  throw  aside  her  mourning- 
dresses.  If  she  wears  them  much  longer,  it  will  look 
very  badly." 

"How  so,  Camille?" 

"  People  will  say  that  madam  prolongs  her  regrets  out 
of  economony,  so  as  to  wear  out  her  gray  dresses." 

"  That  is  a  very  powerful  reason,  my  dear,  and  I 
yield.     Make  haste,  and  bring  me  a  rose-colored  dress  !  " 

"  Rose-colored  ?  No,  madam,  it  is  too  soon  for  that  I 
They  would  say  that  madam  had  worn  mourning  against 
her  will,  and  that  she  has  changed  her  mind  as  quickly  as 
her  dress.  Madam  must  wear  a  pretty  toillette  of  chink 
silk,  royal  blue,  and  embroidered  with  white  bouquets." 

"  Very  well.  But  have  not  all  my  dresses  got  out  of 
fashion  during  the  two  years  that  I  have  been  in  mourn- 
ing?" 

'*  No,  madam,  I  have  taken  care  of  that.  I  have 
made  the  sleeves  over,  and  changed  the  trimmings  of  the 
waists.  With  white  satin  bows,  and  a  lace  coiiFure, 
madam  will  be  perfectly  well  dressed." 

"  But  why  should  I  care  to  dress,  Camille,  since  I  do 
not  expect  any  visitors  ?  " 

"  Has  madam  given  orders  that  she  was  not  at 
home?" 

"  No ;  but  I  shall,  since  you  have  suggested  it.  I 
don*t  want  to  see  any  one." 

Camille  looked  at  her  mistress  in  surprise.  Not  un- 
derstanding her  mood,  she  said  to'  herself  that  madame 
had  the  blues,  and  arranged  her  toilet  without  daring  to 
break  the  silence.  Julie,  sad  and  abstracted,  allowed 
herself  to  be  adorned.     When  the  servant  had  retired, 


ANTONIA.  123 

carrying  off  the  gray  robes  that  had  become  her  property, 
she  looked  at  herself  from  head  to  foot,  in  a  large  mirror. 
She  was  exquisitely  dressed,  and  beautiful  as  an  angel. 
Therefore  it  was  that  her  heart  again  cried,  WhaCs  the 
use  f  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  began  to  cry 
like  a  child. 


V. 


TF  Julien  had  been  a  roue,  he  could  not  have  pursued 
•*•  a  better  course  for  winning  Madam  d'Estrelle's  heart. 
Day  succeeded  day,  and  they  never  met,  even  by  accident. 
And  yet  Julie,  either  from  an  excess  of  confidence,  or 
from  heedlessness,  passed  more  of  her  time  in  her  garden 
than  in  her  drawing-room,  and  preferred  a  walk  amid 
its  lonely  groves  to  the  conversation  of  her  friends.  On 
some  evenings  she  shut  herself  up,  under  the  pretence  of 
restlessness  or  weariness,  and,  at  such  times,  dressed 
elegantly,  as  if  expecting  some  unusual  visit.  She 
would  wander  to  the  very  bottom  of  her  garden,  hurry 
back  in  alarm  at  the  slightest  sound,  return  to  see  what 
had  frightened  her,  and  sink  into  a  sort  of  amazed  reverie, 
on  finding  that  all  was  quiet  and  that  she  was  really  alone. 
One  day  she  received  a  declaration  of  love,  quite  well 
written,  and  without  signature  or  family  seal.  She  was 
very  much  offended  ;  Julien,  she  said,  had  failed  in  all  his 
engagements,  and  deserved  to  be  treated  with  cold  disdain. 
On  the  following  day,  she  discovered  that  this  attempt  had 
come  from  the  brother  of  one  of  her  friends,  and  her  first 
feeling  was  one  of  joy.  No,  certainly  Julien  would  not 
have  written  in  such  terms  ;  he  would  not  have  written  at 
all.  The  love-letter,  which  she  had  thought  exceedingly 
graceful,  as  long  ao  her  uncertainty  lasted,  now  seemed 
to  her  in  very  bad  taste,  and  she  threw  it  away  with  scorn. 
But  what  if  Julien  should  take  the  same  means  of  com- 
municatin"?  with  her.  Doubtless  he  wrote  as  well  as  he 
talked.     Why  didn't  he  write  ? 


124  ANT  ON  I  A. 

As  soon  as  Julie  had  asked  herself  this  quesi.ion,  tha 
consciousness  of  her  own  weakness  made  her  blush  pain- 
fully. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  my  self-control  and  my  reason," 
she  said  to  herself,  ''  if  I  allow  my  heart  to  go  out  in  this 
way  in  pursuit  of  a  love  that  avoids  me  ?  Really  I  am 
only  protected  by  the  indifference  with  which  I  am  re- 
garded, and  even  this  shame  does  not  cure  me.  Why  am 
I  so  inconsistent?  I  thought  at  first  that  any  advance 
upon  the  part  of  this  young  man  would  offend  me.  and 
that  I  would  repulse  him  haughtily  ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
I  am  irritated  by  his  submissiveness,  wounded  by  his 
silence  ;  —  angry  with  him  because  he  has  forgotten  me. 
My  mind  must  be  very  morbid." 

She  was  going  into  a  perfumer's  shop  one  day,  and  met 
Julieu  at  the  door.  As  he  had  no  right  to  speak  to  her 
in  public,  he  pretended  not  to  see  her.  She  noticed  upon 
the  counter  a  pretty  little  fan,  which  he  had  painted  for 
his  mother,  and  had  brought  to  the  store  to  have  mounted. 
Imagining  that  it  was  intended  for  her,  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  refuse  it ;  but  how  impatiently  she  waited  for 
this  little  present. 

"  He  will  send  it  to  me  mysteriously,"  she  thought ;  "  it 
will  be  an  anonymous  offering,  and  then  —  " 

The  present  did  not  come ;  it  had  not  been  intended 
for  her.  How  foolish  she  had  been  to  suppose  that  it 
was !  Julien  was  in  love  with  some  other  woman,  a 
petty  bourgeoise,  or  a  woman  of  the  demi-monde,  —  an 
actress,  perhaps.  She  could  not  sleep  for  two  nights ; 
and  then,  suddenly,  she  h;.aw  the  fan  in  Madam  Thierry's 
hands,  and  breathed  again. 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  could  not  help  talking  about 
Julien  with  Madam  Thierry,  and  there  was  no  end  to 
her  devices  for  turning  the  conversation  to  this  subject. 
She  wanted  to  learn  w^hat  sort  of  life  a  young  artist  led ; 
and  although  very  much  afraid  of  hearing  disagreeable 
or  painful  details,  asked  questions  continually.  After 
inquiring  about  the  tastes  and  habits  of  artists  in  general, 
she  would  refer  suddenly  to  Julien.  "  Your  son,  for  ex- 
ample," she  said  one  day,  in  the  course  of  such  a  conver- 


ANTONIA, 


125 


sation, "  must  have  led  a  very  brilliant  and  dissipated  life, 
—  a  very  agreeable  life,  at  all  events,  —  before  his  father's 
death  and  your  present  trials.'* 

"  My  son's  character  has  always  been  serious,"  replied 
Madam  Thierry,  ''  and  I  must  say  that  young  people  of 
all  classes  seem  to  me  very  different  at  present  from  those 
whom  I  knew  in  my  youth.  My  poor  husband  had  a  fertile, 
brilliant,  and  graceful  imagination  ;  he  was  one  of  those 
persons  who  fill  life  with  unexpected  pleasures  ;  far  from 
being  ambitious,  and  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  glory,  his 
aim  seemed  to  be  the  enjoyment  of  whatever  is  most 
agreeable.  Painting  chef-d'oeuvres,  was  his  amusement, 
and  he  allowed  nothing  to  trouble  him.  The  artists  of 
the  present  day  are  impatient  to  excel  their  predecessors. 
They  have  invented  criticism.  M.  Diderot,  with  whom 
my  husband  was  very  intimate,  often  taught  him  to 
appreciate  his  own  works  more  highly  than  he  would 
have  dreamed  of  doing ;  and,  when  my  little  Julien  lis- 
tened to  this  remarkable  man,  devouring  him  with  his 
great  eyes  beaming  with  attention  and  curiosity,  M. 
Diderot  used  to  say,  *  That  child  has  the  sacred  fire.' 
But  my  husbaud  did  not  want  people  to  put  too  many 
ideas  into  his  head.  He  believed  that  the  beautiful  ought 
to  be  deeply  felt,  and  not  too  much  studied.  Was  he  right 
in  this  ?  The  imagination,  he  thought,  ought  to  be  adorned, 
and  not  oppressed.  Julien  was  gentle  and  patient ; 
he  read  and  pondered  a  great  deal.  Real  connoisseurs 
admire  his  painting  more  than  that  of  his  father,  and 
when  he  speaks  of  art  it  is  easy  to  see  that  he  under- 
stands it  thoroughly ;  but  he  is  not  so  popular  with 
people  in  general,  and  is  very  indifferent  to  society. 
His  mind  is  full  of  a  great  many  subjects,  in  which  he 
is  interested ;  and  when  I  say  to  him,  *  You  do  not 
laugh,  you  are  not  gay,  you  have  not  the  recklessness 
that  belongs  to  your  age,'  he  replies,  'I  am  happy  as  1 
am.  I  really  do  not  care  lor  amusements,  I  have  so 
many  things  to  think  about. '  " 

These  confidential  conversations  with  Madam  Thierry 
gradually  enabled  Madam  d'Estrelle  to  understand  Julien  ; 
and  the  respect  with  which  he  had  inspired  her  at  first 


136  ANTONIA, 

sight,  changed  to  a  feeling  of  tender  timidity,  that  made 
her  love  him  the  more.  It  was  no  longer  possible  for 
her  to  regard  him  as  an  inferior,  and  yet  this  young  artist 
belonged  to  a  class  whom  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
hearing  called  those,  'peojple  I  In  talking  with  her  friends, 
she  sometimes  tried  to  plead  the  cause  of  the  intelligent 
and  virtuous,  whatever  might  be  their  rank.  Her  friends 
were  sufficiently  progressive  to  reply,  ''You  are  per- 
fectly right ;  birth  is  nothing,  —  it  is  merit  alone  that  is 
important."  But  these  were  mere  maxims,  which  it  was 
the  fashion  for  educated  people  to  employ ;  they  meant 
nothing.  Doctrines  of  equality  had  not  yet  begun  to 
influence  manners.  The  very  same  people  who  made 
these  remarks,  would  not  hesitate,  a  moment  afterwards, 
to  blame  vehemently  a  certain  duke  who  had  given  his 
hand  to  a  plebeian  for  the  sake  of  patching  up  his  estates 
with  her  dowry ;  or  some  princess,  so  captivated  with  an 
insignificant  fortune-hunter,  that,  to  the  disgrace  of  all 
honest  people,  she  had  consented  to  marry  him.  They 
would  allow  a  young  girl,  or  a  young  widow,  to  fall  in 
love  with  a  man  of  good  family,  even  although  poor  ;  but, 
if  he  were  not  well-born,  she  was  the  victim  of  a  shameful 
infatuation,  —  an  immodest  attraction  ;  she  was  sacrificing 
her  principles  to  her  senses  ;  marriage  was  no  justification  ; 
she  fell  into  public  contempt.  Julie,  who  had  always  been 
treated  with  so  much  respect  and  consideration,  —  the  only 
compensation  of  her  melancholy  youth,  — shuddered  with 
horror  when  she  heard  hex  friends  talking  in  this  way ; 
and  if  the  object  of  her  secret  passion,  at  such  moments, 
had  entered  her  little  circle,  apparently  so  liberal  and  pro- 
gressive, she  would  have  felt  obliged  to  rise  and  say, 
''  What  do  you  want  here,  monsieur?  " 

But  this  little  circle  broke  up  at  ten  o'clock ;  and, 
ten  minutes  afterwards,  Julie  was  in  her  garden.  She 
gazed  upon  the  little  light  in  the  pavilion,  trembling  like 
a  green  star  through  the  foliage ;  and  imagined  that  if 
Julien  should  meet  her  at  the  turning  of  one  of  the  paths, 
she  would  not  be  able  to  flee  from  him. 

While  poor  Julie  was  going  through  all  this  agitation, 
Julien  was  comparatively  calm.     His  intentions  were  so 


ANTONIA. 


137 


gincere,  so  upright,  that  he  recovered  his  moral  health, 
and  imagined  that  he  had  really  subdued  his  passion. 

"No,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  did  not  deceive  my 
mother ;  "  the  feeling  with  which  Madam  d'Estrelle  in- 
spires me  is  that  of  friendship  ;  —  a  very  intense,  elevated, 
and  exquisite  frieudsliip,  and  not,  as  I  thought  at  first,  a 
violent  and  fatal  passion.  Possibly,  indeed,  I  may  have 
had  this  fever  in  the  beginning ;  but  it  was  dissipated  on 
the  very  day  when  I  saw,  face  to  face,  this  simple,  good, 
confiding  woman ;  on  the  very  day  when  I  heard  her 
sweet,  pure  voice,  and  comprehended  that  she  was  an 
angel,  to  whom  I  am  unworthy  to  aspire.  I  am  not  in 
love  with  her,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word ;  I  love 
her  with  my  whole  heart,  that  is  all,  and  I  will  not  allow 
my  imagination  to  torment  me.  The  grave  has  scarcely 
closed  over  my  poor  father ;  every  hour  is  occupied  in 
laboring  for  my  mother.  No,  no  ;  I  have  neither  the 
right  nor  the  time  to  abandon  myself  to  an  absorbing 
passion." 

Marcel  remarked  Julien's  tranquillity,  and  did  not  pay 
much  attention  to  the  agitation  that  Madam  d'Estrelle 
sometimes  betrayed.  He  called  upon  her  one  day  when 
she  had  just  returned  from  another  visit  to  her  father-in- 
law,  the  marquis.  He  was  considered  out  of  danger,  and 
Marcel  hoped  that  he  would  consent,  before  long,  to  assist 
his  client  more  effectually. 

"  Oh,  \mon  Dieu  I  you  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
about  me,"  said  Julie  ;  "  but  is  it  worthwhile?  I  assure 
you  that  I  should  really  like  to  be  poor  ;  probably  I  should 
not  suffer  from  ennui  so  much  as  I  do." 

"  And  yet  you  look  very  elegant,  and  are  going,  I  sup- 
pose, to  some  great  entertainment  ?  " 

*••  No,  I  shall  take  my  dress  off.  I  do  not  intend  to  go 
out.  With  whom  can  I  go?  I  have  quarrelled  with 
Madam  d'Ancourt,  my  old  convent  friend,  and  she  was 
the  only  person  whom  I  could  visit  alone  in  the  evening. 
I  am  not  intimate  enough  with  my  other  friends  to  go  to 
their  houses  without  a  chaperon.  Madam  des  Morges, 
who  might  accompany  me,  is  horribly  lazy  ;  ray  cousin, 
the  wife  of  the  president,  is  not  received  in  the  best  so- 


128  ANT  ONI  A, 

ciety,  and  the  Marchioness  d'Orbe  is  in  the  country.  1  am 
really  suffering  from  ennui,  Monsieur  Thierry.  I  am  too 
much  alone,  and  there  are  a  great  many  days  when  I  have 
not  the  heart  to  do  anything." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Julie  had  complained 
about  her  situation. 

Marcel  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  reflected. 

"  You  ought  to  have  some  amusement,"  he  said  ;  "  why 
don't  you  go  to  the  theatre  sometimes  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  box  anywhere.  You  know  that  I  cannot 
afford  to  keep  one." 

"  Why  should  that  prevent  you  from 'going  wherever 
you  choose  ?  Keeping  a  box  the  year  round  is  a  sort  of 
slavery.  It  makes  you  conspicuous,  and  compels  yoa 
to  have  a  chaperon.  We  bourgeois  allow  ourselves  little 
diversions  at  slight  expense,  and  requiring  no  inconve- 
nient display.  This  evening,  for  example,  I  am  going 
to  take  my  wife  to  the  Gomedie-Francaise.  We  have 
hired  a  closed  box  on  the  ground-floor." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful  to  go  there  !  You  cannot  be  seen 
at  all,  can  you  ?  You  can  enjoy  the  play,  laugh  and  cry 
as  much  as  you  choose,  without  being  criticised  by  the 
gallery.     Have  you  a  place  for  me.  Monsieur  Thierry  ?  " 

"  I  have  two.     I  intended  to  offer  one  to  my  aunt." 

"  And  the  other  to  her  son  ?     Then  —  " 

"  That  makes  no  difference  :  he  can  go  another  time  ; 
but  what  will  people  think  if  they  meet  you  in  the  lob- 
bies leaning  upon  the  arm  of  your  lawyer  ?  Or,  if  you 
are  recognized  seated  by  the  side  of  Madam  Marcel 
Thierry,  what  will  they  say?" 

"Let  them  say  what  they  choose.  They  will  be  very 
foolish  to  see  anything  wrong  in  that." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  but  people  are  very  foolish,  and 
they  will  say  that  you  are  in  low  company ;  nay,  more,  I 
have  softened  the  word  out  of  respect  for  my  wife.  They 
will  say  that  you  are  in  had  company." 

"It  is  abominable,  that  people  should  be  so  foolish! 
Your  wife  is  a  very  amiable  woman,  I  have  been  told, 
and  is  very  highly  thought  of.  1  will  call  upon  her  to- 
morrow, for  I  know  that  it  would  not  be  polite  to  go  to 


ANT  ON  I  A.  129 

her  box  without  ceremony,  and  without  asking  her  per- 
mission beforehand.  Yes,  I  must  make  her  acquaint- 
ance ;  and  then,  some  time,  we  will  go  to  the  theatre  to- 
gether." 

Marcel  smiled,  for  he  understood  perfectly  well  tho 
feeling  of  cowardice  that  had  taken  possession  of  his 
noble  client  at  the  idea  of  being  accused  of  associating 
with  bad  company.  She  considered  the  opinion  of  the 
world  cruel,  unjust,  insolent  and  absurd ;  but  she  was 
afraid  of  it,  nevertheless,  and  fear  does  not  reason. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,"  Marcel  replied.  "  I  recog- 
nize your  delicacy  and  good  heart  in  all  that  you  say. 
My  wife  will  thank  you  for  your  kind  intentions,  and, 
from  this  evening,  will  be  flattered  to  offer  you  her  box  ; 
but  take  my  advice,  countess,  and  do  not  leave  your  own 
circle,  either  this  evening,  or  to-morrow,  or  at  any  time  ; 
at  all  events,  unless  you  have  some  very  good  reason, 
well  considered  and  well  matured,  for  doing  so.  Eat  if 
you  are  hungry,  but  do  not  force  yourself  to  eat  to  grat- 
ify a  caprice.  The  world  to  which  you  belong  wishes  to 
be  exclusive,  and  you  ought  not  to  defy  it,  unless  to 
obtain  some  great  personal  advantage,  or  to  do  a  very 
good  deed.  No  one  will  believe  that  you  are  unconven- 
tional merely  for  the  sake  of  being  so.  People  will  be 
surprised,  at  first,  and  then  they  will  seek  serious  and 
hidden  motives  to  account  for  your  simplest  act." 

"And  what  will  they  find?"  said  Julie,  anxiously. 

'^  Nothing,"  replied  Marcel,  ''  consequently  they  will 
invent  some  story ;  and  gossip  of  that  kind  is  always 
malicious." 

"  It  follows,  then,  that  I  must  be  condemned  to  soli- 
tude." 

"  You  have  accepted  it  courageously,  hitherto,  and  you 
know  that  it  will  cease  whenever  you  choose." 

'•Yes,  if  I  choose  to  marry;  but  where  will  I  find  a 
husband  combining  all  the  qualities  required  by  the  world 
and  by  myself?  Think  for  a  moment !  According  to  you 
he  must  be  rich,  according  to  my  friends  noble,  and,  to 
please  me,  he  must  be  amiable  and  lovable.  I  shall 
never  find  such  a  man,  and  1  would  do  better  —  " 
9 


i30 


ANTONIA. 


Julie  dared  not  finish  her  sentence,  and  Marcel  thought 
he  had  no  right  to  question  her.  There  was  a  pause, 
which  both  found  awkward ;  Julie  interrupted  it,  by 
exclaiming,  suddenly,  — 

"Ah  !  mon  Dieu^  do  not  imagine  that  I  am  tempted  to 
forget  my  principles,  and  enter  into  a  frivolous  liason !  I 
meant,  —  I  may  as  avcU  say  it,  —  that  I  should  do  better 
to  seek  happiness  in  an  obscure  marriage." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  obscure  !"  said 
Marcel.  "  You  ought  to  insist  upon  a  fortune,  at  all 
events ;  for  if  you  give  rank  the  go-by,  there  is  no 
sort  of  doubt  that  the  family  d'Estrelle  will  abandon 
you." 

"Suppose  they  do?" 

"  If  the  husband  of  your  choice  is  poor,  and  you  bring 
him  a  dowry  of  debts  —  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are  right !  I  should  add  to  his  pov- 
erty all  the  anxiety,  all  the  dangers,  by  which  I  am  tor- 
mented. I  did  not  think  of  that.  See  how  heedless  1 
am  !  Oh,  Monsieur  Thierry,  there  are  some  days  when 
I  long  to  be  dead !  You  are  wrong  not  to  take  me  to  the 
theatre ;  I  feel  gloomy  this  evening,  and  should  like  to 
forget  that  I  exist." 

"Is  it  so  bad  as  that?"  replied  Marcel,  earnestly, 
alarmed  at  her  distressed  expression.  "  Very  well,  then, 
—  put  on  a  thick  black  hood,  and  a  large  black  man- 
tle. There  is  a  carriage  at  the  door,  —  we  will  take  it, 
and  call  for  my  wife  ;  I  will  explain  the  circumstances  to 
her  in  a  few  words,  and  we  will  go  and  hear  Polyeucte. 
That  will  change  the  current  of  your  ideas.  Be  quick ! 
for  if  visitors  arrive,  you  will  not  be  able  to  go." 

Julie  jumped  lor  joy,  like  a  child.  She  soon  muffled 
herself  up,  gave  her  servants  their  liberty  foi  the  evening, 
and  started  with  Marcel.  Divided  between  fear  and  de- 
light, she  was  as  much  excited  as  if  this  little  escapade 
with  a  lawyer  and  his  wife  had  been  an  alarming  adven- 
ture. 

"  And  Madam  Thierry?  "  she  said,  when  they  were  on 
the  way. 

"  We  will  leave  Madam  Thierry  where  she  is,"  said 


ANTONIA.  131 

Marcel ;  "  I  have  sent  her  no  invitation,  and  we  should  be 
kept  waiting  while  she  was  dressing.  Besides,  if  you  are 
recognized  in  spite  of  our  precautions,  I  prefer  that  you 
should  not  be  seen  with  a  lady  who  has  a  grown-up  son, 
—  a  young  man,  by  the  way,  of  whom  uncle  Antoine  was 
very  jealous.  My  son  is  a  little  rascal,  scarcely  twelve 
years  old  ;  we  will  take  him,  and  that  will  complete  the 
party,  —  bourgeoise  and  patriarchal." 

They  stopped  at  Marcel's  house.  Leaving  Julie  shut 
up  alone  in  the  carriage,  he  hurried  in,  and  soon  returned 
with  his  wife  and  son.  Madam  Marcel  Thierry  was  a 
good  deal  intimidated,  but  she  was  too  intelligent  to  at- 
tempt paying  compliments ;  and,  after  a  moment,  felt 
perfectly  at  ease  with  the  amiable  Julie,  who,  fof  her 
part,  thought  her  good  and  sensible.  They  got  out  of 
the  carriage  a  little  in  advance  of  the  file,  walked  to  the 
theatre,  entered  it  without  meeting  curious  or  impertinent 
loungers,  and  were  soon  installed  in  a  dark  box,  where 
Madam  Thierry  and  her  son  took  the  front  seats,  so  as  to 
shield  Madam  d'Estrelle  and  the  lawyer.  They  listened 
to  the  tragedy  with  the  greatest  delight.  Julie  had  never 
enjoyed  herself  so  much  at  the  theatre.  She  felt  per- 
fectly free,  and  this  bourgeoise  family  interested  her. 
She  regarded  them  with  curiosity,  as  the  representatives 
of  a  class  that  she  knew  nothing  about ;  and,  although 
they  were  a  little  restrained  by  her  presence,  husband, 
wife,  and  child  addressed  each  other  with  a  tender  fa- 
miliarity that  touched  her  heart.  In  the  most  interesting 
scenes  in  the  play,  Madam  Thierry  would  turn  to  her  hus- 
band, and  say,  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"Dost  thou  see  well,  my  dear?  Is  not  my  bonnet  iu 
thy  way?" 

"  No,  no,  my  child,"  the  lawyer  would  reply,  "  don't 
trouble  thyself  about  me.     Take  care  of  thyself." 

The  child  applauded  when  he  saw  the  pit  applaud. 
He  would  clap  his  little  hands  in  an  important  manner, 
and  then  suddenly  would  lean  his  head  upon  his  mother*3 
shoulder,  and  kiss  her.  That  meant  that  he  was  enjoying 
himself  very  much,  and  thanked  her  for  bringing  him. 

These   simple  manners,  characteristic   of  the   middle 


132 


ANTONIA, 


classes,  —  this  tender  tliee  and  thou^  —  these  caressing 
epitliets,  at  the  same  time  so  familiar  and  so  sacred, — 
sometimes  made  Julie  feel  like  laughing,  and  then  again 
moved  her  so  deeply  as  to  bring  tears  to  her  eyes.  Any- 
thing of  the  kind  would  have  been  reputed  bad  style  in  her 
circle  ;  this  was  the  way  in  which  common  people  lived 
and  talked.  In  Madam  d'Estrelle's  drawing-room,  Mar- 
cel assumed  skilfully  the  language  and  bearing  of  a  man 
of  the  world  acquainted  with  all  classes  of  society.  In  his 
household  he  threw  off  this  formal  manner,  and,  without 
ever  being  gross,  adopted  the  familiar  tone  that  is  natural 
between  intimate  friends.  Julie,  therefore,  surprised  him 
forgetful  of  his  ceremonious  bearing,  —  living  to  please 
himself  in  a  moment  of  cheerful  ease  and  relaxation.  At 
first,  she  was  both  shocked  and  charmed ;  but  soon  she 
said  to  herself  that  these  people  were  right ;  that  it  would 
be  better  for  all  husbands  and  wives  to  call  each  other  thee 
and  thou,  for  all  children  to  lean  upon  their  mothers,  and 
all  spectators  to  show  an  interest  in  the  play.  In  aristo- 
cratic circles,  people  said  you  ;  they  had  no  tender,  heart- 
felt epithets,  —  they  refined  away  the  meaning  of  every 
sentiment.  Elegance  was  the  first  consideration  in  lan- 
guage, dignity  in  deportment.  The  heart  could  find 
expression  only  accordiog  to  rule  ;  it  was  obliged  to  hide 
its  impulses,  or  clothe  them  in  an  affected  and  symbolical 
style,  that  had  given  birth  to  the  madrigal.  Admiration 
for  genius  was  never  allowed  to  rise  to  enthusiasm.  They 
enjoyed,  appreciated  ;  their  words  were  all  carefully  meas- 
ured. Finally,  they  made  it  a  rule  never  to  be  betrayed 
into  showing  any  emotion  ;  and,  in  this  perpetual  simper 
of  aristocratic  grace,  became  so  charming,  that  they  al- 
most ceased  to  be  human. 

Madam  d'Estrelle  now,  for  the  first  time,  noticed  these 
things,  and  thought  about  them  seriously.  The  little 
Julio,  — as  he  was  called  to  distinguish  him  from  Julien. 
his  godfather,  —  had  an  interesting  face.  He  was  a  com- 
ical little  fellow,  with  a  well-formed  head,  turned-up  nose, 
brilliant  eyes,  sarcastic  mouth,  and  the  cool,  impudent 
manner  of  a  school-boy  making  the  most  of  his  vacation. 
Even  if  he  had  been  disguised  like  a  grand  seigneur,  il 


ANTONIA.  133 

would  have  been  impossible  to  confound  him  with  the 
genuine  little  nobles  of  the  day,  —  so  very  pretty,  polite, 
and  polished,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  tell  them 
apart.  Julio,  no  less  than  themselves,  had  the  style  of 
his  class,  but  this  did  not  deprive  hira  of  his  piquancy. 
Each  person  in  the  middle  class  must  live  for  himself, 
and  make  his  own  way  according  to  the  qualities  that  he 
possesses,  and  hence  the  bourgeois  genius  does  not  seek 
to  efface  individuality.  The  child  had  a  bright  mind, 
and  his  eager  curiosity  betrayed  his  Parisian  descent. 
lie  was  at  the  same  time  inquiring  and  affectionate, 
discerning  and  credulous.  To  keep  him  from  getting 
hold  of  Madam  d'Estrelle*s  name,  which  he  might  have 
repeated  in  his  father's  office,  his  parents  had  told  him 
that  she  was  a  client  who  had  recently  arrived  in  Paris, 
and  that  this  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  seen  a  play. 
Julie  amused  herself  by  asking  him  questions ;  and,  be- 
tween the  acts,  the  little  fellow  did  the  honors  of  the  cap- 
ital and  the  theatre.  He  showed  her  the  king's  box,  the 
pit,  and  chandelier ;  and  even  explained  the  play,  and  told 
her  about  the  relative  importance  of  the  characters. 

"  You  are  going  to  see  a  very  beautiful  piece,'*  he  said, 
before  the  curtain  rose  ;  "  you  will  not  understand  it  very 
well,  perhaps,  because  it  is  in  verse.  I  read  it  with  my 
godfather  Julien  ;  he  likes  it  very  much,  and  he  explained 
it  all  to  me,  just  as  if  it  had  been  in  prose.  If  there  is 
anything  you  do  not  understand,  mademoiselle,  you  must 
ask  me." 

"  You  are  chattering  like  a  magpie,"  said  his  mother ; 
''  do  you  suppose  madam  does  not  understand  the  great 
Corneille  better  than  you  do  ?  " 

''  Maybe  she  does  ;  but  perhaps  she  is  not  so  learned 
as  my  godfather." 

"  Madam  does  not  care  about  the  learning  of  your  god- 
father !  You  imagine  that  every  one  knows  him." 

*'  If  you  don't  know  him,"  said  Julio,  turning  to  Madam 
d'Estrelle,  '"  I  will  show  him  to  you.  There  he  is,  close 
by." 

"  What !  "  said  Marcel,  feeling  very  much  annoyed  j 
*  is  he  here?    Do  you  see  him?" 


134  ANTONIA, 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him  this  good  while.  He  loveg 
Polyeucte  ever  so  much !  He's  seen  it  played  more  than 
ten  times,  I'm  sure.  There  he  is,  in  the  pit,  three 
benches  off.  His  back  is  turned,  but  I  knew  him  right 
off:  he  has  got  on  his  black  coat,  and  opera  hat." 

Madam  d'Estrelle's  heart  beat  violently.  She  looked 
at  the  bench  to  which  the  child  pointed,  but  recognized 
no  one.  Marcel  did  the  same,  with  a  like  resuU.  Julio 
was  mistaken ;  the  person  whom  he  had  thought  to  be 
Julien  turned,  and  proved  to  be  a  stranger.  He  was  in 
the  theatre,  however,  in  the  second  gallery,  just  above 
Marcel's  box,  and  far  enough  from  imagining  that,  by 
descending  to  the  ground-floor,  he  might  have  seen 
Madam  d'Estrelle.  But,  even  if  he  had  known  this,  he 
would  have  remained  in  his  place.  His  resolution  no 
longer  to  seek  chance  interviews  with  the  countess  was 
not  to  be  shaken. 

As  an  artist,  he  had  his  entrances  to  the  Comedie-Fran- 
caise.  He  listened  intently  to  Polyeucte,  as  a  devout  person 
listens  to  a  sermon,  and  went  out  before  it  was  concluded, 
because  he  was  afraid  that  his  mother  would  sit  up  for 
him.  In  crossing  the  vestibule,  he  was  very  much  sur- 
prised to  meet  uncle  Antoine  face  to  face.  It  was  uncle 
Antoine's  invariable  habit  to  go  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  probably  he  had  never  before  entered  a  theatre. 
Julien  greeted  him  cordially ;  it  was  the  best  way,  even 
if  he  was  repulsed. 

''  You  have  returned,  then,"  he  said  ;  "  we  have  been 
very  anxious  about  you." 

"Who  do  you  mean  by  we?"  replied  Antoine,  in  a 
surly  tone. 

"  Marcel  and  I." 

"  You  are  very  good.  You  thought,  I  suppose,  that  I 
had  gone  to  the  Indies,  you  seem  so  surprised  to  see  me." 

"  I  acknowledge  that  I  did  not  expect  to  meet  you  here.'* 

"  It  was  just  the  contrary  with  me ;  I  was  perfectly 
sure  that  I  should  meet  you  here." 

This  reply  was  quite  enigmatical  to  Julien,  and,  with- 
out condescending  to  explain  it,  uncle  Antoine  turned 
his  back  upon  him. 


AJSITONIA.  135 

'*  It  is  useless  to  talk,"  thought  Julien,  "  his  mind  is 
seriously  affected." 

He  passed  on,  but  returned  several  times  to  see  whether 
the  horticulturist  was  going  out  or  coming  in,  and  judge 
whether  he  really  knew  where  he  was.  Uncle  Antoine 
remained  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and 
stared  at  him  with  a  mocking  expression,  but  gave  no 
other  sign  of  frenzy. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  he  was  lost  in  the  crowd 
filling  the  vestibule.  One  of  the  first  groups  that  he  saw 
was  the  family  of  the  lawyer,  with  an  unknown  lady, 
taller  than  Madam  d'Estrelle,  and  completely  enveloped 
in  a  black  hood.  Uncle  Antoine  followed  them  to  the 
street,  took  the  number  of  their  carriage,  and  sent  in  pur- 
suit of  it  the  adroit  and  skilful  spy  who  had  informed 
him  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  was  going  out  with  her  law- 
yer, and  who,  in  all  manner  of  disguises,  and  under  all 
sorts  of  pretexts,  had  been  spying  about,  and  sometimes 
within,  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  for  the  last  month. 

In  those  days  theatres  closed  at  an  early  hour,  so  as 
to  allow  time  for  supper  after  the  play.  Julie,  at'ter  re- 
conducting Madam  Marcel  to  the  street  des  Petits  Augus- 
tins,  arrived  at  her  house  at  about  ten  o'clock.  Marcel, 
who  had  escorted  her,  was  going  away  without  entering, 
when  she  recalled  him.  Her  porter  had  just  informed 
her  of  an  important  piece  of  news :  the  old  marquis, 
her  father-in-law,  had  died  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening, 
just  as  they  imagined  that  he  was  cured.  They  had 
sent  for  Julie,  so  that  she  might  be  present  when  he  par- 
took of  the  sacraments.  Her  absence,  which  it  would  be 
dilBcult  to  account  for,  on  account  of  the  peculiar  position 
that  she  had  herself  explained  to  Marcel,  might  have  the 
most  fatal  consequences. 

"Ah,  that  is  what  made  me  feel  so  !  "  said  Marcel 
anxiousJy,  and  in  a  low  voice,  as  they  stood  together  upon 
the  great  front  steps.  ''  I  told  you  not  to  go.  I  felt  a 
presentiment  of  some  danger ;  but  there  is  no  use  in 
lamenting  over  what  cannot  be  helped.  The  most  alarm- 
ing thing  is  the  sudden  death  of  the  old  man.  Come, 
madam,  you  must  make  haste  to  show  yourself  at  his 


136  ANTONIA. 

bed-side.  Get  into  the  carriage  again,  and  I  will  ac- 
company you  to  your  mother-in-law's  house.  I  will  not 
go  in,  for  it  would  not  do  for  you  to  make  this  visit  of 
condolence  escorted  by  your  lawyer.  To-morrow,  I  will 
take  the  field  in  your  behalf,  and  we  will  learn  the  con- 
tents of  the  will,  if,  as  God  grant,  there  is  a  will." 

Julie,  very  much  agitated,  got  into  ihe  carriage. 

''  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Marcel,  "  I  cannot  wait  for 
you  at  the  dowager's  door  ;  her  people  would  see  me,  and 
I  have  an  idea  that  they  tell  their  mistress  everything. 
You  will  have  to  drop  me  before  driving  into  the  court ; 
and,  as  I  should  not  like  to  have  you  return  alone  in  this 
cab,  you  had  better  order  your  servants  to  have  your  car- 
riage got  ready  and  sent  after  you." 

"'  You  think  of  everything,"  said  Julie  ;  "  I  don't  know 
what  would  become  of  me  without  you." 

She  gave  directions,  and  they  started. 

"  You  must  remember  another  thing,"  said  Marcel, 
while  they  were  driving ;  "  you  will  not  find  the  widow 
in  tears,  but  at  her  prayers ;  do  not  be  reassured  as  to 
her  state  of  mind  by  this  apparent  sanctity.  Be  sure  that 
she  has  taken  note  of  your  absence,  and  will  be  prepared 
to  subject  you  to  an  examination  in  the  very  midst  of  her 
orisons.  Do  not  forget  that  she  hates  you,  and,  as  an 
excuse  for  robbing  you,  would  like  nothing  so  well  as  to 
find  you  out  in  a  fault." 

Julie  wondered  how  she  could  best  explain  her  inno- 
cent adventure. 

''  You  will  find  nothing  better  to  say  than  the  truth," 
said  Marcel ;  "  tell  her  that  you  were  at  my  house." 

"  If  that  were  all ;  —  but  the  play  !  In  the  eyes  of  my 
mother-in-law,  going  to  the  theatre  is  a  frightful  sin  ;  she 
would  consider  it  so,  whoever  had  accompanied  me." 

"  Don't  refer  to  it,  then  ;  say  that  my  wife  v^as  sick, 
—  that  you  feel  a  friendship  for  my  wife,  —  because, — 
because  she  has  done  you  some  service,  —  because  she  is 
charitable,  and  helps  you  in  doing  good.  Burnish  it  up 
with  a  little  varnish  of  devotion  ;  who  will  blame  you?" 

They  arrived  at  their  destination.  Marcel  stopped 
the  carriage,  jumped  out,  and  Julie  drove  into  the  court 


ANTONIA.  137 

of  the  hotel  d'Ormonde,  rue  de  Grenelle-Samt-GeiTQain. 
This  hotel  was  the  property  of  the  Dowager  d'Ormonde  ; 
since  her  second  marriage  with  the  Marquis  d'Estrelle, 
the  marquis  had  lived  with  her  in  the  house  of  her  first 
husband. 

The  dowager  was  very  rich,  and  her  house  had  a 
stately,  but  forbidding  and  formal  aspect ;  she  had  few 
servants,  and  made  but  little  display  ;  all  was  splendid, 
cold,  and  lifeless.  The  hotel  consisted  of  a  number  of 
buildings,  the  principal  one  of  which,  containing  the  apart- 
ments occupied  by  the  marchioness,  stood  in  an  inner 
court,  enclosed  by  a  grating.  At  this  grating  Julie  was 
obliged  to  stop  and  ring,  but,  sure  of  being  admitted, 
and  knowing  that  Marcel  would  have  to  return  on  foot, 
unless  she  sent  the  carriage  after  him  without  delay,  she 
dismissed  the  coachman  as  soon  as  she  saw  some  one 
preparing  to  open  the  door. 

Instead  of  admitting  her,  the  porter  entered  into  a 
strange  discussion.  The  marquis  could  not  see  any  one, 
he  said,  because  he  was  dead.  The  priests  had  come 
to  administer  the  sacraments,  and  the  marchioness  was 
shut  up  with  him  and  the  deceased.  She  could  give 
audience  to  nobody  at  such  a  time.  Julie  insisted  in 
vain  that  she  had,  as  a  near  relative,  a  right  to  enter. 
The  porter,  either  intentionally  or  from  forgetfulness,  left 
her  standing  outside  the  door,  and  went  to  inquire.  Re- 
turning, he  informed  her  that  madame  had  given  strict 
orders  that  she  was  not  to  be  disturbed. 

As  these  negotiations  had  lasted  for  some  time,  the 
Countess  d'Estrelle  felt  no  sort  of  doubt  that  the  mar- 
cliioness  had  been  communicated  with,  and  had  refused 
to  receive  her.  Slie  had  fulfilled  her  duty,  and  had  noth- 
ing further  to  urge.  Her  carriage  ought  naturally  to  have 
come  a  great  deal  faster  than  the  cab  ;  thinking  that  it 
must  have  arrived,  she  retraced  her  steps,  crossed  the 
first  court,  and  went  out  at  the  street-door,  which  was 
kept  by  the  wife  of  the  porter,  who  immediately,  with 
rude  haste,  shut  it  after  her.  There  was  really  a  carriage 
in  the  street,  but,  in  spite  of  her  short-sightedness,  Julie 
saw  at  once  that  it  was  only  a  cab. 


138  ANTONIA. 

Supposing  that  the  coachman  had  not  undei stood  her 
order,  or  that  Marcel  had  sent  him  back  as  a  precaution, 
she  imagined  that  this  was  the  very  carriage  in  which 
she  had  come,  and  called  the  driver,  who  had  fallen 
fast  asleep  upon  his  seat.  It  was  impossible  to  wake 
him  without  pulling  the  flap  of  his  cloak.  Those  who 
remember  what  cab-drivers  were  forty  years  ago,  can 
judge  what  they  were  forty  years  earlier.  This  one 
was  so  dirty,  that  Julie  hesitated  to  touch  him  with  her 
gloved  hand.  She  held  up  with  care  her  ample  silk  skirts, 
so  that  they  might  not  rub  against  the  muddy  wheels. 
Never  had  she  been  in  such  an  embarrassing  position ! 
She  was  frightened  at  being  alone  in  the  open  street  at 
near  midnight.  The  few  people  who  passed,  stopped  and 
stared  at  her,  and  she  trembled  lest,  out  of  kindness  or 
impertinence,  they  would  offer  to  come  to  her  assistance. 

Finally  the  coachman  woke  up  ;  and  stated,  in  reply 
to  her  questions,  that  he  did  not  know  her,  that  he  had 
brought  two  priests  of  the  parish  to  admister  to  a  dying 
man,  and  had  been  ordered  to  wait  for  them.  He  would 
not  move  for  any  consideration.  Julie  looked  around 
anxiously.  Her  carriage  did  not  arrive.  She  lifted  the 
heavy  knocker  of  the  door,  so  as  to  return  to  the  court 
of  the  hotel,  but  knocked  in  vain.  Either  special  orders 
had  been  given  about  her,  or  the  porter  was  always  in- 
flexible ;  at  all  events  he  did  not  open  the  door. 

She  became  excessively  alarmed.  The  idea  of  going 
away  alone,  and  on  foot,  was  not  to  be  thought  of;  to  re- 
main standing  before  this  door  was  equally  impossible. 
There  was  not  a  single  store  in  sight ;  and,  provided  that 
it  was  not  in  the  street,  she  would  have  to  wait  for  her 
carriage,  it  mattered  not  where.  The  dependences  of 
the  hotel  d'Ormonde  extended  quite  a  distance  to  the 
right  and  left.  An  abbey  was  upon  one  side,  and  upon 
the  other  was  the  convent  of  the  Visitation.  There,  per- 
haps, she  might  have  obtained  shelter,  but  it  was  quite  a 
distance  off;  and,  after  walking  ten  minutes,  at  least,  to 
get  to  it,  she  w^ould  have  had  to  enter  into  a  discussion 
before  being  admitted.  Opposite  the  hotel  d'Ormonde, 
there  was  a  tall  grating,  enclosing  a  a  alley  midway  be« 


ANTONIA.  139 

tween  the  hotel  de  Puisieux,  and  the  hotel  d'Estrees. 
Thlnkiog  that  she  might  persuade  the  keeper  of  this  grat- 
iug  to  let  her  wait  in  his  room,  by  giving  liim  a  louis,  she 
crossed  the  street ;  but,  when  upon  the  point  of  ringing, 
noticed  that  there  was  neither  a  keeper  nor  a  bell.  It 
was  a  private  gate,  used  only  by  the  owners  of  the  two 
enclosures.  Julie  lost  courage  ;  and  when,  just  at  this 
moment,  a  man  appeared  suddenly  by  her  side,  as  if  he 
had  risen  from  the  earth,  she  was  so  frightened  that  she 
came  very  near  fainting.  As  soon  as  he  named  himself, 
however,  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy :  it  was  Ju- 
lien.  She  explained  her  mishaps  in  a  few  confused 
words,  which  Julien,  as  he  was  already  partly  acquainted 
with  the  facts,  and  had  not  come  to  this  place  by  chance, 
understood  without  difficulty. 

''It  is  useless  for  you  to  wait  here  for  your  carriage," 
he  said ;  "it  will  probably  be  some  time  before  it  ar- 
rives." 

"  IIow  do  you  know?" 

"  I  went  this  evening  to  the  Comedie-Francaise." 

"  Did  you  see  me  there? 

"  Were  you  there,  madam?     I  did  not  know  it." 

"Then  —  " 

"  That  enables  me  to  explain  my  meeting  with  M. 
Antoine  Thierry,  and  his  remarks.  He,  without  doubt, 
knew  that  you  were  to  be  there,  and  was  playing  the  spy. 
He  made  an  ironical  observation,  which,  although  I  did 
not  understand  it,  gave  me  food  for  reflection.  In  return- 
ing to  the  pavilion,  I  felt  a  little  uneasy,  and  stopped 
bcibre  your  hotel.  Your  people  were  in  great  excite- 
meui.  It  seems  that  the  coachman  could  not  be  found. 
The  porter  knows  me  by  sight,  and  seeing  that  he  was  in 
trouble,  I  went  up  to  him,  and  inquired  whether  you  had 
met  with  any  accident.  He  informed  me  of  the  death  of  the 
Marquis  d'Estrelle,  and  of  the  fact  that  you  had  been 
escorted  here  by  my  cousin  Marcel.  The  coachman,  in 
the  meanwhile,  arrived,  dead  drunk,  and  utterly  incap- 
able of  understanding  your  orders.  The  porter  left  me, 
saying  that  Bastien  would  go  all  right,  when  once  upon 
his  seat.      Not  being  so  phlegmatic  as  your  porter,  I 


i^o  ANTON  I  A. 

hastened  to  follow  you.  My  hope  was  to  find  Marcel 
still  here,  and  warn  him  not  to  leave  you  alone  with  a 
drunken  coachman,  but  I  was  a  few  minutes  too  late. 
You  were  really  alone,  and  have  been  very  much  fright- 
ened." 

'••  It  is  over,"  said  Julie.  '*  I  am  calm  now.  Take 
me  back  on  foot.  Providence  has  sent  you  to  be  my 
guide." 

"  It  is  too  far  to  go  on  foot,"  replied  Julien,  '*  and 
your  shoes  are  not  suitable  for  walking.  The  cab  yon- 
der shall  carry  you,  with  or  without  the  consent  of  the 
coachman  :  I  answer  for  that.  I  will  ride  on  the  out- 
side, and  will  reconduct  you  in  safety." 

Julien  led  Madam  d'Estrelle  to  the  carriage,  put  her 
into  it,  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  on.  He  re- 
fused. Julien  jumped  upon  the  seat  by  his  side,  took 
the  reins,  and  swore  that  he  would  throw  him  into  the 
river  if  he  offered  any  resistance.  The  uobie  bearing 
and  determined  air  of  the  young  man  frightened  him  so, 
that  he  submitted ;  but,  before  they  had  gone  a  hundred 
rods,  he  stopped,  and  began  shouting,  "  Robbery  !  Mur- 
der !  "  A  group  of  men  were  coming  from  a  house,  and 
the  poor  devil  hoped  that  they  would  come  to  his  assist- 
ance, and  enable  him  to  resist  Julien's  violent  assault. 

Chance  decreed  that  these  persons  were  fashionable 
young  men,  just  coming  from  a  late  supper,  and  a  good 
deah  intoxicated.  It  was  one  of  those  moments  of  excite- 
ment when  people  are  very  ready  to  become  the  redress- 
ors  of  wrongs,  especially  if  they  are  four  to  one.  They 
speedily  stopped  the  horses,  and  one  of  them  tried  to  open 
the  carriage  door ;  for  the  malicious  coachman  cried  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  — 

"  Help  !  help  !  A  villain  running  away  with  a  nun  !  " 

"  Let  us  see  whether  she  is  worth  the  trouble  !  "  cried 
the  group,  with  one  voice. 

Before  they  could  get  the  door  open,  Julien  was  upon 
his  feet,  and  had  repulsed  the  foremost  of  these  inquisitive 
gallants  in  an  energetic  manner.  The  young  man  so 
roughly  handled  began  to  insult  him,  and  drew  his  sword  ; 
his  companions  followed  his  example.      Julien  had   no 


ANTONIA. 


141 


time  to  draw  his  sword.  He  defended  himself  with  his 
cane,  and  used  it  with  so  much  coolness,  vigor  and  address, 
that  one  of  his  opponents  fell,  and  the  others  drew  back. 
Julien,  who  had  not  left  the  carriage  steps,  took  advan- 
tage of  this  fortunate  respite  to  jump  in  and  lift  Julie 
out  by  the  opposite  door.  After  carrying  her  some  dis- 
tance in  his  arms,  he  stopped,  and  turned  to  wait  for  his 
adversaries  ;  but,  either  seriously  wounded,  or  sobered  by 
the  approach  of  the  watch,  they  were  hurrying  rapidly 
away  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Walk  quickly,  madam,"  said  Julien  to  Madam  d'Es- 
trelle  ;  "let  us  avoid  the  curiosity  of  the  police." 

Julie  walked  quickly  and  well.  Fear  had  paralyzed 
lier  for  a  moment,  but  the  sight  of  the  danger  to  which 
her  protector  was  exposed,  restored  her  energy.  After 
making  several  turns  to  mislead  the  police,  they  came  out 
in  safety  upon  the  new  street,  now  called  the  boulevard 
des  Invalids.  It  was  scarcely  built  up  at  all,  and,  at  this 
iiour,  was  completely  deserted.  Julie  had  not  noticed  a 
stain  upon  her  gloved  hand,  but  she  felt  the  moisture  of 
the  blood  upon  her  wrist,  and  pausing,  cried,  — 

"  Ah  !  mon  Dieu^  you  are  wounded  !  " 

Julien  had  not  felt  anything,  and  was  sure  that  he  was 
not  seriously  hurt.  He  tied  up  his  wounded  hand  in  a 
handkerchief,  and  offered  Julie  his  other  arm. 

"  I  assure  you  that  it  is  nothing,"  he  said  ;  "  and  what 
if  it  were?  Unluckily,  my  opponents  were  not  very 
formidable,  and  I  deserve  but  little  credit  for  driving 
them  off.  Handsome  dandies !  Petits-viaitres  I  And 
yet  these  are  the  people  who  constitute  our  nobility." 

"  Do  you  despise  the  nobility  so  much?" 

"  I  do  not  despise  them,  but  I  hate  impertinence  ;  and 
as  nobles  are  not  always  ready  to  fight  duels  with  plebei- 
ans, I  am  very  glad  to  have  thrashed  them  as  a  plough- 
boy  would  have  done." 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Julie,  thinking  aloud,  "  and  yet  these 
people  have  the  power  to  insult  and  to  oppress  the 
feeble." 

"  The  feeble  !  Who  do  you  mean  by  the  feeble?"  re- 
phed  Julien,  misunderstanding  her.     "The  man  without 


142  ANTONIA. 

a  title  ?  Undeceive  yourself,  madam  ;  it  is  to  this  man 
tliat  the  future  belongs,  for  he  has  upon  his  side  right, 
real  justice,  and  the  determination  to  overthrow  the 
abuses  of  the  past." 

Julie  did  not  understand  him,  and  began  once  more  to 
tremble  ;  not  because  she  was  still  afraid  of  meeting  their 
enemies,  but  at  the  mysterious  power  that  seemed  to  her 
to  emanate  from  Julien.  She  gazed  upon  him  stealthily, 
and  thought  his  countenance  shone  in  the  moonlight. 
She  imagined  that  her  feeble  hand  was  resHng  upon  the 
arm  of  a  giant. 

And  yet  Julien's  nature  was  perfectly  simple  ;  a  thor- 
ough artist,  he  was  not  at  all  ambitious,  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  of  a  public  career.  Dedicated  to  art,  pro- 
posing to  devote  his  life  to  the  study  of  nature,  he  did  not 
feel  called  upon  to  play  a  fiery  part  in  revolutionary  tem- 
pests. The  terrible  power  with  which  he  was  clothed  in 
Julie's  eyes,  was  only  the  reflection  of  the  divine  power 
descending  upon  the  neiy  class;  —  the  class  to  which  he 
belonged.  He  was  one  of  the  hundred  thousand  among 
the  millions  of  crushed  and  disappointed  men,  who  were 
soon  to  say,  "  The  measure  is  full,  —  the  past  has  had  its 
day."  The  state  of  feeling  to  which  he  had  referred  was 
almost  universal,  and  allusions  to  it  were  constantly  being 
made  ;  but  Madam  d'Estrelle  did  not  know  this,  and 
imagined  that  she  had  listened  to  a  momentous  pro- 
phecy, uttered  by  an  exceptional  man.  This  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  heard  opinions  and  customs  that  she 
regarded  as  invincible,  braved  and  despised.  A  feel- 
ing of  ardent  confidence  mingled  with  the  superstitious 
terror  that  she  experienced ;  a  desire  to  lean  so  much  the 
more  upon  this  vigorous  arm,  which,  animated  by  a 
noble  heart,  had  just  defended  her,  singly,  against  four 
assailants. 

''  You  think,  then,"  she  said,  continuing  to  walk  rap- 
idly, ''  that  it  is  possible  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  this 
unjust  world  which  oppresses  consciences  and  condemns 
new  ideas  ?     I  wish  I  could  believe  so." 

"  You  do,  since  you  wish  to  believe  it." 

"  Perhaps  ;  but  when  will  this  state  of  freedom  begin  ?  * 


ANTONIA.  i\% 

"  No  one  knows  how  or  when ;  we  only  know  that 
justice  must  finally  prevail.  The  present  state  of  things 
may  last  fifty,  or  it  may  last  a  hundred  years  longer 
Why  should  you  care,  madam  ?  You  are  one  of  those 
who  profit  innocently  by  the  misfortunes  of  others." 

"  No  indeed ;  I  have  no  advantages  at  all.  I  have 
nothing  of  my  own,  and  am  nothing  in  the  world." 

"  But  you  are  of  the  world,  — you  belong  to  it ;  it  is 
bound  to  protect  you,  and  would  never  wound  you  per- 
sonally." 

"  Who  knows?  "  said  Julie. 

Fearing  that  she  had  said  too  much,  she  reverted  to 
their  late  adventure,  to  change  the  subject : 

"  It  frightens  me  to  think,"  she  said,  "  that  a  great 
misfortune  might  have  occurred  !  Ah,  your  poor  mother  J 
how  she  would  have  cursed  me,  if  I  had  occasioned  —  " 

"  No,  madam,  that  could  not  have  happened,"  replied 
Julien  ;  "  I  had  the  right  on  my  side." 

*'  Do  you  believe,  then,  that  Providence  interferes  in 
such  cases?" 

"  Yes,  since  Providence  is  within  us.  It  gives  strength 
and  presence  of  mind.  A  man  who  is  defending  the 
honor  of  a  woman  against  villains  has  every  chance  in  his 
favor.  It  is  easy  for  him  to  be  courageous  ;  he  feels  that 
he  cannot  yield." 

"IIow  much  faith  you  have,"  said  Julie,  deeply  moved. 
"  Yes,  I  remember,  you  told  me  when  you  were  at  my 
house,  the  other  day^  that  faith  removes  mountains,  and 
that  you  were  faith  in  person." 

''  The  other  day  T'  replied  Julien,  simply,  "why  it 
was  more  than  a  month  ago  !  " 

Julio  dared  not  acknowledge  that  she  did  not  know  how 
many  days  and  nights  had  succeeded  that  brief  interview, 
fcjhe  was  silent.  Julien  was  so  respectful  that  he  would 
not  resume  the  conversation  of  his  own  accord,  and  the 
longer  it  lasted  the  less  capable  she  felt  of  breaking  it, 
w^ithout  betraying  her  emotion.  Finally  they  reached  the 
pavilion. 

''  Do  you  not  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  ought  to  leave 
you  here,  so  that  I  may  not  be  seen  by  your  people? 


142  ANTONIA, 

a  title  ?  Undeceive  yourself,  madam  ;  it  is  to  this  man 
tliat  the  future  belongs,  for  he  has  upon  his  side  right, 
real  justice,  and  the  determination  to  overthrow  the 
abuses  of  the  past." 

Julie  did  not  understand  hira,  and  began  once  more  to 
tremble  ;  not  because  she  was  still  afraid  of  meeting  their 
enemies,  but  at  the  mysterious  power  that  seemed  to  her 
to  emanate  from  Julien.  She  gazed  upon  him  stealthily, 
and  thought  his  countenance  shone  in  the  moonlight. 
She  imagined  that  her  feeble  hand  was  resHng  upon  the 
arm  of  a  giant. 

And  yet  Julien*s  nature  was  perfectly  simple  ;  a  thor- 
ough artist,  he  was  not  at  all  ambitious,  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  of  a  public  career.  Dedicated  to  art,  pro- 
posing to  devote  his  life  to  the  study  of  nature,  he  did  not 
feel  called  upon  to  play  a  fiery  part  in  revolutionary  tem- 
pests. The  terrible  power  with  which  he  was  clothed  in 
Julie's  eyes,  was  only  the  reflection  of  the  divine  power 
descending  upon  the  new;  class;  —  the  class  to  which  he 
belonged.  He  was  one  of  the  hundred  thousand  among 
the  millions  of  crushed  and  disappointed  men,  who  were 
soon  to  say,  "  The  measure  is  full,  —  the  past  has  had  its 
day."  The  state  of  feeling  to  which  he  had  referred  was 
almost  universal,  and  allusions  to  it  were  constantly  being 
made  ;  but  Madam  d'Estrelle  did  not  know  this,  and 
imagined  that  she  had  listened  to  a  momentous  pro- 
phecy, uttered  by  an  exceptional  man.  This  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  heard  opinions  and  customs  that  she 
regarded  as  invincible,  braved  and  despised.  A  feel- 
ing of  ardent  confidence  mingled  with  the  superstitious 
terror  that  she  experienced ;  a  desire  to  lean  so  much  the 
more  upon  this  vigorous  arm,  which,  animated  by  a 
noble  heart,  had  just  defended  her,  singly,  against  four 
assailants. 

''  You  think,  then,"  she  said,  continuing  to  walk  rap- 
idly, ''  that  it  is  possible  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  this 
unjust  world  which  oppresses  consciences  and  condemns 
new  ideas  ?     I  wish  I  could  believe  so." 

''  You  do,  since  you  wish  to  believe  it." 

"  Perhaps  ;  but  when  will  this  state  of  freedom  begin  ?  * 


ANTONIA,  i\% 

"  No  one  knows  how  or  when ;  we  only  know  that 
justice  must  finally  prevail.  The  present  state  of  things 
may  last  fifty,  or  it  may  last  a  hundred  years  longer 
Why  should  you  care,  madam  ?  You  are  one  of  those 
who  profit  innocently  by  the  misfortunes  of  others." 

"  No  indeed ;  I  have  no  advantages  at  all.  I  have 
nothing  of  my  own,  and  am  nothing  in  the  world." 

"But  you  are  of  the  world, — you  belong  to  it;  it  is 
bound  to  protect  you,  and  would  never  wound  you  per- 
sonally." 

"  Who  knows?  "  said  Julie. 

Fearing  that  she  had  said  too  much,  she  reverted  to 
their  late  adventure,  to  change  the  subject : 

"  It  frightens  me  to  think,"  she  said,  "  that  a  great 
misfortune  might  have  occurred  !  Ah,  your  poor  mother  J 
how  she  would  have  cursed  me,  if  I  had  occasioned  —  " 

"  No,  madam,  that  could  not  have  happened,"  replied 
Julien  ;  "  I  had  the  right  on  my  side." 

"  Do  you  believe,  then,  that  Providence  interferes  in 
such  cases?" 

"  Yes,  since  Providence  is  within  us.  It  gives  strength 
and  presence  of  mind.  A  man  who  is  defending  the 
honor  of  a  woman  against  villains  has  every  chance  in  his 
favor.  It  is  easy  for  him  to  be  courageous  ;  he  feels  that 
he  cannot  yield." 

"  IIow  much  faith  you  have,"  said  Julie,  deeply  moved. 
"  Yes,  I  remember,  you  told  me  when  you  were  at  my 
house,  tlie  other  day,  that  faith  removes  mountains,  and 
that  you  were  faith  in  person." 

"  IVie  other  day  I"  replied  Julien,  simply,  "why  it 
was  more  than  a  month  ago  !  " 

Julio  dared  not  acknowledge  that  she  did  not  know  how 
many  days  and  nights  had  succeeded  that  brief  interview. 
•She  was  silent.  Julien  was  so  respectful  that  he  would 
not  resume  the  conversation  of  his  own  accord,  and  the 
longer  it  lasted  the  less  capable  she  felt  of  breaking  it, 
without  betraying  her  emotion.  Finally  they  reached  the 
pavilion. 

"  Do  you  not  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  ought  to  leave 
you  here,  so  that  I  may  not  be  seen  by  your  people? 


«46  ANTOJSriA. 

and  God  to  yield  to  conventional  ideas,  —  fear,  calcuW 
tion,  the  consideration  of  personal  interests  improperly 
understood.  According  to  this  way  of  reasoning,  every- 
thing was  measured  by  six-franc  pieces.  Marcel  had 
proved  it  to  her.  Julie  had  no  right  to  love,  because  she 
had  not  enough  six-franc  pieces.  Was  Marcel  right? 
Must  her  soul  be  sacrificed  to  the  grossest  of  all  facts,  — 
to  the  implacable  menace  of  misery  ? 

"  No,"  said  Julie,  ''  it  shall  not  be  !  I  will  sell  all  that 
I  possess,  own  nothing,  be  poor,  work, —  beg,  if  necessary, 
but  I  will  love.  Besides,  he  will  take  care  of  me,  he 
who  already  so  tenderly  cares  for  his  mother.  If  he 
loves  me,  he  will  accept  the  additional  burden  that  I  will 
be  to  him,  and  accept  it  with  joy.  In  his  place,  I  would 
do  as  much." 

Tormented  by  a  strange  agony,  she  began  to  walk  to 
and  fro. 

"  Does  he  love  me  well  enough  to  devote  himself  to 
me,"  she  said,  "  with  the  passion  that  I  thought  h^  be- 
trayed at  our  first  meeting  ?  Ah  !  I  am  continually  ask- 
ing myself  that  question,  and  it  torments  me  in  vain ; 
neither  my  conscience,  my  reason,  nor  my  heart  can  re- 
ply. He  may  regard  me  merely  with  a  feeling  of  friend- 
ship. He  is  a  good  son,  and  respects  me  because  I  was 
anxious  to  assist  his  mother.  He  is  grateful,  and  proves 
his  gratitude  by  an  admirable  devotion.  What  more? 
Why  should  I  believe  that  he  loves  me  madly,  and  longs 
to  pass  his  life  at  my  feet  ?  It  cannot  be  that  he  feels 
this  longing,  since  he  never  seeks  me  except  when  I  am 
in  need  of  his  assistance.  At  other  times  he  is  absorbed 
by  active  duties ;  he  devotes  himself  to  his  mother,  his 
art,  perhaps  to  some  young  girl  of  his  own  class,  whose 
dowry,  when  he  marries  her,  will  make  him  well  off, 
while  I,  —  involved  in  debt, — but  am  I  so?  What  if 
my  husband's  father  has  given  me  a  fortune?  How 
changed  my  life  will  be  !  In  that  case,  shall  I  forget  this 
young  man  so  beneath  me  in  position  ?  Shall  I  marry  a 
man  of  rank,  whose  alliance  will  bring  me  honor  and 
distinction  ?  Never  !  At  present,  it  is  he  who  n  I  love, 
and  he  alone  ;  no  longer  an  unknown  ideal.     1  love  him 


ANTONIA. 


H7 


and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  ever  change,  —  can  ever 
forget.  I  fear  not,  since  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  conquer 
my  heart ;  since  I  am  vanquished,  when  I  forbid  myself 
to  feel.  My  God,  my  God,  love  then  is  a  positive  terror, 
a  positive  torture.  It  is  the  fear  that  he  does  not  love  me 
that  is  killing  me.  How  shall  I  learn  the  truth?  I 
will  never  do  so,  perhaps.  How  can  I  live  without 
knowing?" 

While  thus  tormenting  herself,  she  wandered  heedlessly 
into  a  side-walk,  quite  near  the  pavilion.  The  door  was 
open,  a  dark  shadow  detached  itself  from  the  house. 
Julien,  as  if  he  had  heard  her  thought,  as  if  he  had 
been  irresistibly  drawn  to  reply  to  it,  came  straight  up  to 
her. 

Julie  immediately  recovered  her  self-possession  and 
pride.  Surprised,  she  was  going  to  address  him  like  an 
offended  queen,  but  he  did  not  give  her  time  to  speak. 

^  Why  are  you  here,  madam  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  will  no  one 
open  the  door  for  you  ?  Are  your  people  all  asleep,  or 
waiting  for  you  on  the  other  side  of  the  hotel?  You 
cannot  pass  the  night  in  this  garden,  dressed  as  you  are. 
It  is  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  dew  is  falling ; 
you  will  be  cold,  —  ill.  And  see,  your  hood  is  on  your 
shoulders,  your  head  is  bare,  your  arms  are  scarcely  cov- 
ered. Stay,  here  is  a  cloak  belonging  to  my  mother ; 
take  it,  and  pardon  me  for  being  here." 

''But  how  did  you  know?  —  " 

"  I  heard  you  walking  on  the  sand  ;  —  heard  a  light  step, 
that  could  only  be  yours.  You  stopped  every  few  mo- 
ments, but  always  began  again.  I  was  in  my  studio  ;  the 
door  was  half  open.  I  said  to  myself,  '  She  is  still  out 
of  doors,  she  cannot  make  herself  heard,  she  is  cold,  — 
fatigued,  suffering,  alarmed,  perhaps.*  I  could  no  longer 
remain  within.  Besides,  it  was  my  duty — .  No,  madam, 
such  a  state  of  things  could  not  continue.  Whatever 
may  be  said  or  thought,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  die." 

At  last  Julien  was  moved,  his  voice  trembled  as  he 
spoke,  his  hands  trembled  as  he  placed  his  mother's  cloak 
around  Julie's  shoulders.  His  agitation,  however,  did 
not  proceed  from  an  effort  to  resist  the  impulses   of  pas- 


148  ANTONIA, 

sion  ;  he  was  troubled  and  excited  as  a  father  is  whose 
child  is  in  danger.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  that  he 
could  be  accused  of  seeking  Julie  with  a  selfish  or  treach- 
erous design.  Forgetting  all  conventionality,  therefore, 
he  expressed  his  solicitude  in  an  ardent  tone,  that  com- 
pletely overwhelmed  her.  She  seized  both  his  hands  in 
hers,  and,  carried  away  by  an  impulse  of  exalted  passion, 
—  the  first  of  her  life,  —  as  unexpected  as  it  was  ungov- 
ernable, —  cried  distractedly,  — 

"  You  love  me,  you  love  me !  I  am  sure  of  it ! 
Speak  !  tell  me  that  it  is  so  ;  —  let  me  hear  it,  know  it ; 
you  love  me  as  I  wish  to  be  loved  !  " 

Julien  stifled  a  cry,  and,  obeying  a  first  impulse,  car- 
ried Julie  into  his  studio.  But  he  recovered  in  a  mo- 
ment all  the  respect  which  he  naturally  felt  for  a  person 
of  her  extreme  purity  of  character.  Falling  at  her  feet, 
he  covered  the  tips  of  her  icy  fingers  with  kisses,  and  im- 
plored her  not  to  doubt  him. 

"  Have  confidence  in  me,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sworn  that 
I  would  be  your  brother ;  I  will  be  like  a  brother  to  you 
now.  Do  not  doubt  me,  for  it  is  your  confidence  that 
will  save  me.  I  told  you  that  I  adored  you,  and  it  was 
true,  —  how  true  I  did  not  know  myself!  My  love  is 
stronger  than  you  think,  —  more  terrible  than  I  myself 
imagined  ;  but  I  would  kill  myself  rather  than  cause  you  to 
shed  a  tear  !  Do  not  be  alarmed,  —  you  shall  never  blush 
for  having  ordered  me  to  love  you." 

Would  he  have  been  able  to  keep  his  word  ?  Amid  all 
the  delirium  of  his  joy  he  believed  that  he  would,  and 
Julie  added  to  his  strength  by  her  courage. 

*'  No,  I  do  not  want  to  blush,"  she  said,  with  the  frank 
sincerity  of  an  earnest  love,  "  I  intend  to  be  your  wife. 
Frivolous  intrigues  are  not  suited  to  a  man  like  you  ;  to 
a  woman  like  me  gallantry  is  impossible.  Rather  than 
Ibrget  my  honor,  I  also  would  kill  myself.  Julien,  what- 
ever may  happen,  —  whether  I  am  rich  or  poor,  —  for 
there  is  an  equal  chance  of  the  one  as  of  the  other,  —  let 
us  swear  that  we  will  be  married.  If  I  am  poor,  you  must 
not  lose  courage ;  without  weakness,  without  faltering, 
you  must  support,  cherish  me.     If  I  am  rich,  no  foolish 


ANTONIA.  149 

pride  must  keep  you  from  sharing  my  fate.  Let  us  ar- 
range all  our  plans  now,  —  decide,  —  bind  ourselves  by 
an  oath.  I  warn  you  that  I  am  not  courageous,  and 
therefore  I  wish  to  be  engaged  too  far  to  retreat,  for  then 
I  know  that  I  shall  look  neither  to  the  right  nor  left. 
Fidelity  to  my  love  will  be  my  duty,  and  that  thought  will 
give  me  strength,  decision,  coolness.  True  religious  prin- 
ciples enabled  me  to  accept  despair  in  my  married  life  ;  I 
will  accept  happiness  now,  and  will  struggle  to  be  happy, 
as  I  have  struggled,  hitherto,  not  even  to  desire  to  be  so. 
Swear,  my  friend  !  we  must  be  all  to  each  other,  or  never 
meet  again  ;  for  it  is  certain  that  we  love  each  other,  and 
that  our  love  is  stronger  than  ourselves.  The  world  has 
nothing  to  do  with  this.  For  the  last  fifteen  days  I  have 
no  longer  lived,  —  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  dying. 
To-day  I  do  not  know  myself;  just  now,  if  you  had  told 
me  that  you  did  not  love  me,  I  should  have  followed  you 
in  despair.  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  should  have  thrown  myself 
to  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  with  the  moon  and  glittering 
star.  Julien,  I  am  losing  my  senses !  I  have  never 
said  such  things  before  ;  I  did  not  know  that  I  would  dare 
speak  so,  and  I  am  talking  so  to  you  ;  —  what  spirit  is 
speaking  through  me  ?  Have  pity  upon  me,  —  sustain 
me,  —  guard  my  honor,  which  is  yours  ;  preserve  for  your- 
self the  purity  of  your  wife." 

"  Yes,  my  wife,  I  swear  that  I  will !  "  cried  Julien,  in  a 
transport  of  enthusiasm ;  ''  and  you,  Julie,  swear  also, 
before  God,  that  you  will  be  mine  !  " 

''  Mon  Dieu  I "  said  Julie,  bewildered,  and  suddenly  be- 
coming a  little  cowardly  again,  ''  and  we  have  only  known 
each  other  for  a  month  !  *' 

"  No,  not  even  for  a  month,"  replied  Julien  ;  "  a  month 
ago  we  met  for  quarter  of  an  hour  in  this  studio,  and 
for  quarter  of  an  hour  in  your  house  ;  this  evening  we 
have  passed  half  an  hour  together  in  the  street ;  so  that 
altogether  we  have  known  each  other  only  for  an  hour. 
We  may  as  well  acknowledge,  Julie,  that  we  do  not  know 
each  other  at  all,  according  to  all  appearances.  But,  not- 
withstanding, we  love  each  other  !  A  love  like  this  comes 
from  God.     He  hears  us  now,  and  comprehends  all  that 


150  ANTONIA, 

we  feel ;  for  it  was  His  will  that  we  should  love  ;  He  de 
sires  it." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  she  replied,  with  renewed  en- 
thusiasm, inspired  once  more  by  her  lover's  exalted  fai^h. 
"  We  know  nothing  of  each  other  beyond  the  fact  of 
our  mutual  love.  Is  not  that  enough?  Does  not  this 
consciousness  render  everything  else  superfluous  ?  What 
remains?  All  that  the  world  knows  of  you  is  that  you 
are  a  skilful  artist,  a  worthy  young  man,  a  good  son. 
Do  I  love  you  because  you  possess  these  qualities? 
You  have  heard  people  say  that  I  am  kind,  gentle,  gen- 
erous ;  but  this  is  not  the  reason  that  you  love  me ! 
There  are  other  good  men,  other  estimable  women,  for 
whom  we  should  never  have  dreamed  of  forming  an  af- 
fection. We  love  because  we  love,  —  that  is  the  whole 
thing." 

•'  Yes,"  replied  Julien,  "  love  is  like  God  ;  it  is  because 
it  is,  —  it  is  absolute !  What  matters  it  that  we  shall 
discover  in  each  other,  hereafter,  such  and  such  pecu- 
liarities of  mind  and  character  ?  The  great,  the  absorbing 
interest  of  our  life,  is  our  affection  ;  sure  of  that,  we  have 
known  each  other  a  hundred  years,  —  forever,  —  love 
has  neither  beginning  nor  end." 

They  talked  in  this  incoherent  way  for  more  than  an 
hour,  in  low  voices,  in  the  studio,  vaguely  lighted  by  the 
moon  glimmering  through  the  trees.  Julie  was  seated  ; 
Julien  knelt  before  her,  and  held  her  hands  in  his,  al« 
though  they  had  not  ventured  to  exchange  a  kiss.  The 
moon  was  sinking  towards  the  horizon,  and  yet  the  light 
became  stronger  and  stronger :  they  were  obliged  to 
confess  that  the  dawn  was  breaking. 

Julie  arose,  and  made  her  escape,  after  swearing,  and 
making  Julien  swear  a  hundred  times,  that  their  union 
was  indissoluble. 

Camille  was  very  much  surprised,  when  she  opened 
the  door  for  her  mistress,  to  see  that  it  was  nearly  three 
o'clock. 

"  Are  my  people  still  waiting  for  me.^"  said  Madam 
d'Estrelle. 

"  Yes,  madame,  they  supposed  that  madame  would  re* 


the  door  of  the  hotel  d  Ormonde. 

"  No,  it  delayed  so  long  that  I  did  not  wait.  M.  Thierry 
escorted  me  home  by  way  of  the  pavilion,  and  I  stopped 
there  to  talk  about  my  affairs.  Tell  the  servants  that  they 
can  go  to  bed  ;  the  carriage  will  probably  return  when  the 
coachman  becomes  sober." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  madame  knows  what  happened,  then  ? 
Poor  Basticn  !  I  can  swear  to  madame  that  he  only  got 
drunk  out  of  spite,  because  madame  drove  in  a  cab." 

If  this  explanation  made  Julie  smile,  the  account  she 
gave  of  her  own  proceedings  appeared  singular  to  her  cham- 
bermaid ;  but  she  suspected  nothing.  Julie's  life  was  so 
simple  and  pure,  that  she  was  above  suspicion.  Camille 
merely  thought  that  her  affairs  must  be  very  much  involved, 
since  she  had  to  pass  the  night  in  talking  with  her  laAvyer. 
She  imparted  her  anxiety  to  the  other  servants,  who  took 
the  matter  greatly  to  heart,  although  resolving,  at  the  same 
time,  that  they  would  not  let  their  wages  be  in  arrears. 
The  valet  de  chambre,  who  was  the  friend  of  Camille, 
and  protector  of  Bastien,  went  to  the  hotel  d'Ormonde 
in  search  of  the  latter,  but  did  not  find  him,  Bastien 
had  understood  that  he  was  ordered  back  to  the  tavern. 
He  had  returned  thither,  and  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
an  angel,  —  no  other  is  reputed  delicious  enough  to  be 
compared  wiih  that  of  a  drunkard.  The  carriage  was 
waiting  at  ihe  door  under  the  charge  of  the  footman,  his 
subordinate,  who  had  consented  to  hold  the  lioracs,  on 
condition  that  he  should  be  supplied,  every  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  so,  with  something  to  keep  him  warm.  Tlie  rogues 
did  not  reappear  at  the  hotel  until  broad  daylight,  and 
did  not  recover  their  senses  for  twenty-four  hours.  Un- 
der otlier  circumstances,  Julie  would  have  discharged 
ihcm  ;  but  she  foresaw  that  this  Bachanal  adventure  would 
cast  her  own  romantic  adventure  into  the  shade,  and 
keep  it  from  being  brought  into  discussion  in  the  ante- 
chamber and  the  lodge.  This  really  happened  ;  and,  as 
Madam  d'Estrelle's  servants  were  not  at  ail  spiteful,  it 


15- 


ANTONIA. 


seemed  as  if  no  inquiries  would  ever  be  made  about  the 
employment  of  this  unusual  night. 

On  the  following  evening,  the  lovers  considered  it  pru- 
dent to  remain  within  doors  ;  but,  on  the  next  night, 
although  they  had  made  no  appointment,  they  met  in  the 
groves  of  the  garden,  and  repeated,  with  new  delight,  the 
vows  they  had  so  lately  made.  For  some  time  they  con- 
tinued to  meet  in  this  way,  without  trouble  or  apparent 
danofer.  Nothinor  was  easier  than  for  Madam  d'Estrelle 
to  slip  from  her  apartments  ;  she  could  do  so  openly, 
since  her  people  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  her  take 
the  fresh  air  alone,  and  at  quite  a  late  hour,  during  the 
summer  nights. 

What  a  happy  life,  if  it  could  only  have  lasted !  These 
meetings  had  all  the  charm  of  mystery,  and  no  remorse 
troubled  their  delight.  Free,  both  of  them, —  aspiring  only 
to  the  most  holy  union,  and  sustained  by  a  love  strong 
enough  to  be  patient,  —  they  met  together  in  the  night, 
amid  thickets  of  flowers,  in  the  splendor  of  the  summer, 
just  opening  and  still  retaining  all  the  graces  of  the 
spring,  like  two  fiancees  who  are  privileged  to  love,  and 
who,  without  abusing  their  liberty,  withdraw  from  obser- 
vation, so  as  not  to  make  others  jealous.  It  was  the 
honeymoon  of  sentiment  preceding  that  of  passion.  Pas- 
sion, indeed,  they  felt,  but  resisted  it,  or  rather  held  it  in 
reserve  by  common  consent,  for  the  period  of  conflict  and 
danger  that  could  not  long  be  delayed.  They  knew  that 
they  would  lia^  e  to  fight  a  battle  in  defence  of  their  love, 
and  Julien  sometimes  said  to  his  friend,  — 

'•'  You  will  have  to  suffer  for  my  sake,  I  know, 
and  I  shall  suffer  from  the  consciousness  that  you  are 
being  annoyed ;  but  we  will  belong  to  each  other  then, 
and  our  happiness  will  render  us  invulnerable  to  outside 
attacks.  Even  if  you  were  not  made  sacred  to  me  by 
your  modesty  and  my  veneration,  it  seems  to  me  that 
selfishness  itself,  properly  understood,  would  teach  me  not 
to  exhaust  all  my  happiness  at  once." 

At  other  times  Juiien  was  more  agitated,  and  less  re- 
signed to  delay ;    but,   at  such  moments,  Julie  calmed 


k 


ANTONIA.  153 

him  by  imploring  him  to  remember  what  he  had  said  on 
the  previous  day. 

"  I  have  been  so  happy  since  we  have  loved  each  other 
thus  !  "  she  suid.  ''  Do  not  change  a  situation  full  of  de- 
light. Think :  on  the  day  when  I  acknowledge  openly 
that  I  have  chosen  you  as  the  companion  of  ray  life,  peo- 
ple will  laugh  at  me,  denounce  me,  accuse  me  of  yielding 
to  a  vulgar  infatuation  ;  I  know  virtuous  women,  who  will 
Fay  to  me  scornfully,  —  '  Accept  him  for  a  lover,  since 
you  must  have  a  lover,  but  see  him  in  secret,  —  do  not 
marry  him  ! '  How  shall  I  be  able  to  rebuke  their  im- 
pertinence, if  my  conscience  is  not  clear,  —  if  I  have  no 
longer  the  right  to  say,  '  No,  he  is  not  my  lover,  he  is  my 
betrothed,  whom  I  love,  and  who  has  proved  his  respect 
for  me  as  no  other  man  would  have  been  able  to  do !  * 
We  shall  need  all  our  strength,  Julien,  and  truth  is  the 
most  powerful  of  all  weapons  with  which  to  struggle 
against  false  ideas." 

Julien  submitted  from  devotion,  and  also  out  of  respect 
to  the  heroic  sentiment  (that  sentiment  by  which  Corueille 
was  animated)  that  had  governed  his  life  and  restrained 
the  first  impetuosity  of  his  youth.  He  could  govern  his 
senses,  since  he  had  never  allowed  them  to  rule  him. 
And  then,  this  romance  of  pure  love,  celebrated  in  the 
balmy  night,  appealed  to  his  imagination  ;  for  the  artist, 
these  poetic  meetings  were  intoxicating  festivals.  There 
were  gloomy  recesses,  and  dense  masses  of  foliage  in  this 
garden,  such  as  we  see  in  the  compositions  of  Watteau, 
And  Julie  herself,  with  her  rather  tall  figure,  so  simply 
and  gracefully  clad  in  ample,  flowing  skirts,  harmonized 
vvitii  the  very  feeling  which  made  Watteau  a  painter 
without  trickery,  an  Italian  realist,  although  living  in  a 
society  of  conventionalism,  and  an  age  of  affectation.  In 
a  certain  retired  corner,  sharply  defined  upon  the  dark 
background  of  the  groves,  and  leaning  forth  vaguely  in 
the  night  like  a  ghost,  stood  a  high  pedestal  encircled  with 
ivy,  and  surmounted  by  a  large  white  vase.  Faint  gleams 
of  light,  vanishing,  intangible,  glimmered  amid  the  foliage, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  branches  fell  upon  the  marble. 
As  the  twilight  deepened,  the  outlines  of  the  vase  gradu* 


154  ANTON  I  A. 

ally  became  iDdistinct,  but  its  form  never  ceased  to  be 
elegant  and  majestic. 

It  was  to  this  spot,  as  soon  as  his  mother  had  retired, 
that  Julien  went  to  await  Julie ;  and,  when  she  ap- 
proached, smiling,  tranquil  as  an  embodied  dream  of  hap- 
piness, with  her  silk  robes  shining  in  the  darkness,  and 
her  beautiful  bare  arms,  holding  some  light  satin  drapery, 
he  imagined  that  she  was  a  modern  muse  presiding  over 
his  destiny,  bringing  him  all  the  promises  of  the  future, 
and  all  the  delights,  all  the  enchantments  that  belong  to 
the  real  life  of  the  present. 

It  was  well  for  them  to  enjoy  the  present  without  think- 
ing too  much  of  the  morrow,  for  the  future  was  too  uncer- 
tain to  admit  of  their  forming  definite  plans.  They  did 
not  yet  know  how  long  they  would  be  allowed  to  remain 
in  happy  tranquillity,  forgotten  and  abandoned  by  the 
world,  in  this  garden,  which  Love  had  transformed  into  a 
terrestrial  paradise.  Soon,  perhaps,  inexorable  creditors 
would  even  drive  them  from  the  pavilion,  and  force 
them  to  seek  in  some  suburb  a  cottage  with  a  garden 
under  its  windows.  Whatever  their  fate  might  be,  they 
were  resolved  to  meet  it  together  ;  this  was  the  only  thing 
that  was  certain,  —  their  only  irrevocable  determina- 
tion. 


VI. 


'T^HE  marquis  d'Estrelle  had  been  dead  two  weeks, 
-^  and  still,  in  spite  of  all  possible  investigations,  there 
was  no  trace  of  a  will.  People  believed  that  there  had 
been  one,  although  no  one  dared  assert  distinctly  that 
the  marchioness  had  destroyed  it.  A  number  of  indica- 
tions persuaded  Marcel  that  this  was  the  case,  but  there 
was  no  use  in  expressing  suspicions  that  could  not  be 
proved  true,  and  things  quietly  took  their  legal  course. 
The  marchioness,  that  is,  according  to  the  terms  of  her 
marriage  settlement,  inherited  all  the  property  of  the 
deceased,  and  she  made  no  mention  of  any  sum  set  apart 


ANTONIA. 


^55 


for  paying  the  debts  of  the  late  ccant.  The  terms  of 
Julie's  settlement,  however,  seemed  to  call  for  such  a 
provision.  It  was  a  question  for  the  law  to  decide  ;  and 
Marcel  advised  Julie  to  begin  a  suit,  if  only  to  stop  the 
suits  against  herself,  that  were  already  threatened.  Julie 
was  opposed  to  going  to  law.  She  thought  that  in  law- 
suits both  parties  were  almost  sure  to  lose,  and  Marcel 
confessed  that  slie  was  not  very  far  wrong. 

''  I  am  very  well  aware,"  she  said,  *'  that  the  mar- 
chioness does  not  like  me,  and  it  may  be  that  she  does 
not  legally  owe  me  anything ;  but  her  standing  is  very 
high,  and,  wealthy  as  she  is,  it  is  impossible  that  she 
will  allow  a  person  bearing  her  name  to  be  left  entirely 
destitute.  It  would  not  do  to  speak  to  her  about  money 
matters  so  soon  as  this,  and  would  be  imprudent,  as  you 
yourself  observed,  to  appear  in  too  much  haste.  When- 
ever the  right  time  comes,  I  will  speak  to  her,  although 
the  task  will  be  a  very  disagreeable  one.  You  shall  tell 
me  when." 

Some  time  afterwards,  Marcel  notified  her  that  she 
must  take  her  measures  without  delay. 

"  You  must  go  at  once,*'  he  said,  "  there  is  no  time 
to  lose ;  your  creditors  are  proposing  to  begin  proceed- 
ings against  you  to-morrow." 

Without  being  discouraged  at  the  untoward  result  of 
her  first  visit,  Julie  had  called  a  second  time  upon  the 
marchioness  a  few  days  after  the  decease  of  the  marquis. 
On  this  occasion  she  had  been  received  coldly,  but  civilly. 
The  will  being  destroyed,  her  presence,  perhaps,  was  no 
longer  feared.  The  marchioness  referred  to  her  absence 
on  the  evening  of  her  father-in-law's  death,  and  made 
several  tart  observations  about  the  worldly  pleasures 
which  were  attending  the  end  of  Madam  d'Estrelle's 
mourning.  In  reply,  Julie  gave  the  explanation  agreed 
upon  with  Marcel.  The  marchioness  listened  with  an 
air  of  impolite  curiosity,  and  added,  — 

"It  is  unfortunate  for  you,  countess,  that  you  will 
have  to  go  into  mourning  again  !  " 

Julie  continued  to  visit  the  dowa;:jer  without  makin«» 
any  reference  to  her  own  embarrassed  circumstances. 


156  ANTONIA. 

When  delay  was  no  longer  possible,  she  called ;  and, 
with  her  usual  sweetness  of  manner,  explained  her  posi- 
tion :  brief  and  gentle  as  her  words  were,  however,  she 
could  not  manage  to  make  them  very  humble. 

"I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  answered  the  marchion- 
ess, ''  but  not  having  the  advantage  of  being  intimate 
with  attorneys,  I  know  nothing  about  such  matters.  If 
you  will  send  your  lawyer  to  mine,  he  shall  examine  into 
ray  rights  as  well  as  my  obligations,  and  he  will  be  satis- 
fied that  you  were  not  one  of  the  persons  left  under  my 
care." 

"  This  is  not  the  answer,  madam,  that  I  expected  from 
a  person  of  your  uprightness  of  character.  Very  possi- 
bly you  do  not  owe  me  anything.  Since  you  assert  that 
it  is  so,  I  am  bound  to  believe  you.  But  I  had  supposed 
that  family  considerations  —  " 

*'  I  have  not  the  honor  of  belonging  to  your  family," 
interrupted  the  marchioness,  dryly. 

''  You  mean  to  imply,"  answered  Julie,  indignant  at 
this  provocation,  "  that  the  Marquis  d'Estrelle  married 
beneath  him,  in  selecting  from  a  family  one-half  of  whose 
nobility  was  of  the  sword,  and  one-half  of  the  robe.  That 
intimation  does  not  offend  me.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my 
ancestors,  who  were  magistrates,  nor  do  I  consider  my- 
self inferior  to  anybody.  But  I  did  not  come  here  to 
discuss  my  right  to  the  honor  of  bearing  the  same  name 
with  yourself.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  the  Countess 
d*Estrelle.  Is  it  right  that  I  should  lose  the  support 
promised  to  me,  and  supposed  to  be  assured  to  me  ?  Al- 
though the  marquis  may  have  forgotten  me  upon  his 
death-bed,  he  must  have  informed  you  of  his  intentions ; 
and  does  it  not  follow  that  you  ought  to  pay  his  son*s 
debts,  in  his  place,  or  at  least  a  part  of  them  ?  " 

''  No,  madam,"  answered  the  dowager,  "  no  such  ob- 
ligation follows  from  any  intention  that  he  ever  expressed 
to  me.  It  was  the  opinion  of  the  marquis  that  you  ought 
at  once  to  surrender  your  right  of  dower,  since  it  is  not 
worth  enough  to  pay  your  husband's  debts ;  and  that  in 
that  case,  measures  should  be  taken  to  pay  what  remained 
of  them." 


ANTONIA, 


157 


"  This  has  often  been  suggested  to  me,  madam  ;  and  I 
have  asked  whether,  in  consideration  of  this  sacrifice,  it 
was  proposed  to  settle  any  income  upon  me." 

"Are  you  entirely  without  means?  Have  you  inher- 
ited nothing  at  all  from  your  own  family?" 

"  Twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  madam,  and  no  more, 
as  you  yourself  know." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  live  upon  that,  my  dear  !  It  will 
enable  you  to  drive  in  a  fiacre,  to  hire  a  box  at  the 
theatre,  to  visit  attorneys*  wives,  and  to  run  about  the 
streets  at  midnight,  leaning  upon  the  arms  of  sign- 
painters.  Your  tastes  are  of  this  description,  from  what 
I  hear.  Gratify  them,  by  all  means.  Surrender  your 
dower-right,  or  sell  at  any  sacrifice  all  the  property 
which  you  have  derived  from  the  d'Estrelle  family ;  I 
don't  care  which.  My  only  wish  in  the  matter  is,  that 
30U  should  be  married  to  somebody,  so  as  to  change  your 
name,  and  prevent  you  from  being  confounded  with  me 
by  people  who  don't  know  us." 

"You  shall  have  that  satisfaction,  madam,"  said  Julie, 
rising,  "  for  I  should  dislike  such  a  disagreeable  confu- 
sion as  that,  as  much  as  yourself." 

She  bowed,  and  withdrew. 

Marcel  was  waiting  at  her  house,  and  saw  her  come 
in,  pale,  and  with  her  eyes  flashing  with  indignation. 

"  All  is  lost,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  see  that !  Tell  me 
quickly,  madam,  what  has  happened.  You  frighten 
me!" 

"  My  dear  Thierry,  I  am  ruined  without  remedy,"  re- 
plied Julie,  "  but  it  is  not  that  which  is  choking  me.  I 
have  been  insulted,  —  trodden  under  foot.  At  the  very  first 
word,  although  I  had  said  nothing  rash,  had  offered  her 
no  provocation,  she  insulted  me  to  my  very  face.  I  have 
been  followed  by  spies,  too,  and  the  most  innocent  circum- 
stances have  been  reported,  and  most  venomously  misrep- 
resented. Thierry,"  she  continued,  sinking  upon  a  chair, 
"  you  are  a  virtuous  man  ;  I  swear  to  you  that  I  am  a 
strictly  virtuous  woman." 

"  No  one  but  a  scoundrel  could  think  of  denying  it,"  cried 
Marcel.     "  But  come,  take  courage,  —  explain  !  " 


1^8  ANTONIA. 

Tlie  countess  gave  him  a  full  account  of  her  interview 
with  the  marchioness,  but  did  not  refer  to  her  understand- 
ing  with  Julien  ;  for  they  had  resolved,  for  the  present, 
not  to  reveal  their  secret,  even  to  Madam  Thierry  herself. 

When  Marcel  knew  all,  he  was  very  much  discour- 
aged, and  seemed  to  think  the  situation  altogether  des* 
perate. 

"  You  have  no  alternative,  as  far  as  I  can  see,"  he 
said,  "between  sudden  and  absolute  destitution,  —  a  ter- 
rible trial  for  a  person  of  your  habits,  —  and  a  lawsuit, 
of  which  the  result  is  extremely  uncertain.  I  do  not 
know  how  to  advise  you.  My  worst  apprehensions  are 
realized.  The  plan  is  to  rob  you,  and  to  set  the  world 
against  you,  too,  by  blackening  your  reputation.  The 
marchioness  has  been  sharpening  her  weapons  for  some 
time  ;  she  provided  herself  with  them  on  seeing  that  the 
marquis  was  failing,  and  even  at  the  very  moment  of  his 
death  made  use  of  them.  She  has  been  plotting  your 
destruction  in  cold  blood,  has  set  spies  upon  you,  and  fol- 
lowed you  about  —  " 

"  Stay,  M.  Thierry  ;  has  not  M.  Antoine  had  a  hand 
in  all  this?" 

"  Julien  believes  he  has.  For  my  part,  I  am  still  in 
doubt.  I  will  ascertain,  however  ;  and,  if  necessary,  will 
organize  a  spy  system  in  opposition  to  his  ;  but  the  first 
thing  is  not  to  know  who  has  been  betraying  you,  but  to 
resolve  upon  your  own  line  of  conduct." 

"  First  of  all,  no  lawsuit !  " 

"  Very  well,  but  we  will  not  say  so.  We  will  make 
great  demonstrations  of  fighting.  I  will  attend  to  that. 
They  want  you  to  surrender  your  dower-rights  for  noth- 
ing. For  my  part,  I  mean  that  they  shall  pay  for  it,  and 
I  phall  hold  out  for  a  right  good  price,  too." 

"  In  the  meanwhile,"  observed  Julie,  "  I  have  quar- 
relled with  my  husband's  family ;  for,  as  you  can  very 
well  imagine,  I  shall  never  enter  the  house  of  the  mar- 
chioness again." 

"  I  cannot  recommend  you  to  pursue  a  different  course, 
tor  she  has  evidently  resolved  to  push  you  to  extremities 


ANTONIA.  159 

War  has  been  declared ;  and,  although  we  did  not  pro- 
voke hostilities,  we  must  not  draw  back." 

Marcel,  however,  had  no  time  to  prepare  for  battle. 
Two  or  three  lawyers,  of  rather  bad  character,  who  were 
talkiuij  about  a  forced  sale  at  auction,  and  who  declined 
to  hear  of  any  further  delays,  were  pursumg  him  vigor- 
ously. He  made  up  his  mind  that  it  would  be  necessary 
to  comply,  therefore,  with  the  demands  of  the  mar- 
chioness, and  he  went  to  Julie  to  tell  her  so. 

'•  They  intend  to  rob  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  afraid 
that,  in  case  of  resistance,  they  will  force  you  to  give  up 
even  the  small  capital  that  you  inherit  from  your  own 
family.  It  is  very  certain  that  the  count's  debts,  with  the 
arrears  of  interest,  will  amount  to  more  than  what  is  left 
of  his  fortune.  The  Marchioness  d'Estrelle  means  to 
come  and  live  in  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  or,  at  all  events,  to 
get  it  into  her  hands." 

''And  its  dependencies  as  well? "asked  Julie;  "the 
pavilion  also?" 

''  Tiie  pavilion  also.  My  aunt  will  be  entitled  to  an 
indemnity  for  quitting  the  premises,  but  that  is  a  question 
to  be  discussed  separately,  and  does  not  concern  you." 

Julie  made  no  reply,  and  sank  into  a  fit  of  deep  melan- 
choly. The  idea  of  being  ruined,  —  of  being  reduced 
to  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year, — had 
not  really  assumed  distinct  form  in  her  mind.  But  to 
leave  at  once  and  forever  this  elegant  mansion,  —  this 
delicious  garden,  which  had  within  the  last  few  weeks  be- 
come so  dear  to  her, — to  lose  the  neighborhood  of  tho 
pavilion,  —  to  forego  her  interviews  with  Julien,  so  full 
of  charm  and  security,  —  this  was  indeed  a  catastrophe  ! 
A  whole  world  of  delights  was  crumbling  beneath  her 
feet.  A  phase  of  existence,  filled  with  the  purest  happi- 
ness, was  ended  with  brutal  violence,  and  without  allowing 
her  the  least  time  for  preparation. 

Marcel  at  once  went  to  see  the  notary  of  the  mar- 
chioness, and  found  that  he  took  a  very  high  tone,  not- 
withstanding the  concessions  that  he  was  prepared  to 
make.  This  was  not  the  fault  of  the  notary,  who  was 
really  an  excelleut  man,  but  he  was  forced  to  follow  his 


i6o  ANTON  I  A. 

client's  directions  as  to  the  conduct  of  her  business.  He 
had,  moreover,  been  prejudiced  against  Julie,  and  re- 
garded her  as  a  foolish  young  woman,  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything  to  the  gratiiication  of  her  unregulated  pas- 
sions. This  was  more  than  Marcel  could  bear  ;  he  was 
highly  indignant,  and  swore  upon  his  honor  that  there  was 
no  secret  connection  between  the  countess  and  his  cousin, 
—  that  they  were  scarcely  acquainted, — and  that  Julie 
was  the  purest  of  women,  and  the  most  entitled  to  respect 
and  to  pity.  Marcel  was  known  to  be  an  exceedingly 
honorable  man,  and  the  notary  was  rather  staggered  by 
the  warmth  of  his  conviction.  But,  coming  back  to  the 
question  of  the  legal  rights  of  the  marchioness,  he  de- 
monstrated that  she  was  mistress  of  the  situation,  and 
that  Julie  might  even  consider  herself  fortunate  to  be  al- 
lowed to  do  as  she  required. 

He  promised,  however,  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  inspire 
his  client  with  more  liberal  views  respecting  the  widow 
of  her  step-son.  The  next  day  he  wrote  to  Marcel,  to  say 
that  the  marchioness  desired  to  see  the  hotel  d'Estrelle, 
which  she  had  not  entered  for  a  long  time.  She  wished 
to  examine  the  condition  of  the  premises  with  her  own 
eyes,  and  to  have  an  appraisement  made  in  her  presence, 
with  his  assistance  and  that  of  the  lawyer  of  the  countess. 
It  was  easy  to  see,  from  the  turn  of  this  letter,  that  the 
notary  had  displeased  his  client,  by  pleading  Julie's  cause, 
as  he  had  promised,  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  and  that 
he  himself  was  far  from  being  satisfied  with  the  suspicion 
and  harshness  of  the  dowager. 

He  made  his  appearance,  along  with  her,  the  same  day. 
Julie,  unwilling  to  see  her  cruel  enemy  again,  locked  her- 
self into  her  boudoir,  leaving  all  the  other  doors  open. 

The  Marchioness  d'Estrelle  was  of  a  harsh  disposition, 
even  for  a  Norman  ;  in  Madam  d'Aucourt's  circle  they  used 
to  call  her  "  Madame  de  Pimbeche,"  "  Madame  d'Or- 
beche,"  and  so  on.  She  was  accused  of  borrowing  money 
by  the  year,  and  lending  it  again  for  short  terms,  at  hard 
rates.  Perhaps  there  was  some  exaggeration  about  this, 
but  if  she  was  proposing  to  advance  a  large  sum  in  order 
to  settle  with  the  creditors  of  the  Count  d'Estrelle,  and 


ANTON  I  A,  161 

obtain  possession  herself  of  Julie's  property,  it  is  certain 
that  slie  meant  to  get  some  of  it  back  again  in  the  details 
of  the  business.  This  was  proved  clearly  enough,  by  her 
promptness  in  causing  an  appraisement. 

She  went  all  over  the  house,  inspecting  everything 
with  keen  and  unerring  eyes.  She  made  objections,  and 
noted  deductions  for  every  little  rub  on  the  wall,  depre- 
ciated as  much  as  she  could  the  value  both  of  the  real 
and  personal  property ;  and  both  in  speech  and  action 
showed  a  disgusting  avarice,  and  aversion  for  her  rela- 
tive, that  astounded  Marcel,  and  more  than  once  made 
the  notary  blush.  When  they  came  to  the  boudoir  in 
which  Julie  had  taken  refuge,  she  ordered  the  door  to  be 
opened.  She  was  obeyed  instantly.  Julie  had  heard 
her  coming,  and  not  choosing  to  be  compelled  to  receive 
an  odious  visit  in  spite  of  herself,  —  such  an  insult  was 
too  much  to  be  endured,  —  she  had  gone  out  by  way  of  the 
garden,  leaving  orders  with  Camille  to  open  the  door  when 
required.  Camille  was  very  proud,  —  there  had  been 
aldermen  among  her  ancestors  !  She  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  giving  the  dowager  a  lesson  ;  going  to 
a  table  where  she  had  hastily  laid  out  a  few  articles  on 
purpose,  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  sarcastic  humility,  — 

''  Perhaps  madam  would  like  to  count  the  linen  ?  Here 
are  some  of  my  mistress's  neck-handkerchiefs  and  rib- 
bons." 

The  dowager  usually  would  have  cared  little  for  the 
talk  of  a  servant,  but  her  hatred  of  Julie  was  stung  and 
exasperated  by  the  blow.  She  looked  hastily  through  the 
window,  and  saw  Madam  d'Estrelle  crossing  the  garden 
towards  the  pavilion. 

Julie,  no  doubt,  made  a  great  mistake  in  going  to  the 
pavilion,  but  she  was  angry  also.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
fcshe  was  driven  out  of  her  house,  her  own  room,  her  most 
private  sanctuary,  by  this  impudent  persecution.  She 
tied  for  a  refuge  ;  and,  too  irritated  lor  consideration, 
instinctively,  and  without  stopping  to  reflect,  ran  to 
Madam  Thierry,  — to  Julien. 

"  They  will  not  come  and  hunt  me  down  over  there," 
she  said  to  herself;  "  they  will  not  dare.  1  am  the  owner 
II 


102  ANTONIA, 

of  that  property  yet;  no  one  except  myself  has  the 
right  to  enter  premises  occupied  under  a  lease  from  me. 
Besides,  it  is  time  to  avow  my  friendship  for  Madam 
Thierry  ;  from  this  time  forward,  I  shall  take  the  lib- 
erty of  visiting  her  as  I  do  other  ladies  who  have  brothers 
and  sons." 

Just  as  she  was  resolutely  entering  the  pavilion,  the 
marchioness,  with  a  resolution  not  less  sudden,  issued 
from  the  boudoir  and  rushed  into  the  garden. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  madam?"  said  Marcel,  who 
had  not  noticed  Julie's  flight,  but  who  mistrusted  the  glit- 
tering eyes  and  abrupt  manoeuvres  of  the  active  and 
vigorous  old  woman. 

The  marchioness,  active  as  a  plucked  magpie,  flew 
onward,  without  condescending  to  reply.  Unable  to  stop 
her,  Marcel  and  the  notary  followed. 

She  knew  the  way  perfectly  well,  although  she  had  not 
been  upon  the  premises  for  a  long  time,  having,  since  her 
second  marriage,  quarrelled  with  the  count,  her  step-sou. 
She  reached  the  pavilion  a  few  minutes  after  Julie,  found 
the  outer  door  open,  and  sprang  into  the  studio  as  if  she 
had  been  shot  into  it. 

Julien  was  there  alone  ;  he  did  not  even  know  that 
Madam  d'Estrelle  had  come  in  and  gone  up  stairs  to  his 
mother's  room.  Since  his  secret  interviews  with  Julie 
he  no  longer  watched  for  her  approach.  Their  under- 
standing with  each  other  was  so  good,  that  they  could 
afibrd  to  dispense  with  accidental  meetings.  He  was  at 
work,  and  singing.  Julie,  as  she  entered  the  little  ves- 
tibule, had  felt  a  sudden  vague  presentiment  that  she 
would  be  pursued,  and  had  gone  up  stairs,  thinking  that 
the  widow's  chamber  would  aftbrd  her  an  inviolable  re- 
treat. Julien  had  never  seen  the  old  dowager;  aud, 
startled  by  her  sudden  apparition,  he  rose  up,  thinking  that 
she  had  entered  from  the  street,  and  that  he  was  going, 
perhaps,  to  receive  some  commission.  This  flushed  and 
breathless  personage,  with  her  harsh  and  wrathful  coun- 
tenance, inspired  him,  however,  with  a  feeling  of  dislike 
rather  than  of  expectation. 


ANTONIA.  163 

"  That  woman  would  haggle  like  a  second-hand  dealer," 
he  said  to  himself;  "  perhaps  she  really  is  one." 

The  old  lady's  mean  dress  gave  no  indication  of  her 
rank  and  fortune. 

"  Are  you  alone  here?"  she  inquired,  without  any  sort 
of  salutation. 

Marcel  and  the  notary  now  made  their  appearance, 
and  Julien,  astonished,  looked  inquiringly  at  Marcel,  who 
made  haste  to  say,  — 

"  This  lady  thinks  of  buying  the  pavilion,  and  she  — " 

*'  It  is  unnecessary  to  present  me  to  this  person,"  re- 
turned the  marchioness,  sharply,  "  and  I  am  quite  able  to 
make  my  own  explanations." 

"  Very  well,  madam,"  said  Julien,  smiling,  "  this  per- 
son is  very  much  at  your  service." 

"  I  asked  you  a  question,"  continued  the  marchioness, 
not  at  all  disconcerted  ;  "  let  me  make  it  plainer.  Which 
way  did  the  Countess  d'Estrelle  go  ?  " 

Julien  started  back.  Marcel,  wishing  to  avoid  a  ridic- 
ulous scene,  caught  his  eye,  and  pointed  to  his  forehead, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  The  lady  is  out  of  her  mind  !  " 

"  Ah,  I  understand  !  "  said  Julien  ;  and  continued  in 
the  tone  that  people  use  to  children  or  idiots,  "  the 
Countess  d'Estrelle,  madam,  —  I  do  not  know  her." 

*'  That  is  a  very  foolish  reply,  Mr.  Painter,  and  quite 
useless  besides.  I  want  to  speak  to  that  lady,  and  I 
know  that  she  stays  here,  —  from  time  to  time." 

"  Marcel,"  said  Julien  to  his  cousin,  "  was  it  you  who 
brought  this  woman  here  }  " 

Marcel,  in  an  agony,  shook  his  head. 

"Was  it  you,  then,  monsieur?"  said  Julien  to  the  no- 
tary. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  the  notary,  promptly ;  "  I  fol- 
lowed her,  and  I  don't  know  at  all  for  what  reason  she 
came  here." 

''  Then  you  would  have  done  much  better  not  to  have 
followed  me,"  replied  the  marchioness,  dryly  and  quietly ; 
*'  I  had  a  reason  for  coming  into  this  picture-shop,  and 
you  had  none.  Do  me  the  favor  to  allow  me  to  transact 
my  business  in  my  own  way." 


164 


ANTONIA. 


''  I  wash  my  hands  of  it,"  said  the  notary  ;  and,  bowing 
to  Julien  with  much  politeness,  he  went  out,  cursing  the 
cross-grained,  fantastic  humor  of  his  client. 

"  As  to  you,  Mr.  Attorney  —  "  began  the  marchioness 
to  Marcel  — 

"As  to  me,  madam,"  interrupted  Marcel,  "this  is  my 
own  family,  and  I  shall  receive  no  orders  except  from  tlie 
lady  of  the  house,  who  is  my  aunt." 

"  I  know  all  that.  I  know  that  you  are  relatives.  I 
know  what  good  friends  you  are  among  yourselves,  and 
what  good  neighbors  you  are  to  the  widow  of  the  Count 
d'Estrelle.  Stay  if  you  choose,  or  put  me  out  if  you 
dare !  " 

"  Let  us  have  done,  madam,  with  this  disagreeable  dis- 
cussion," said  Julien,  losing  patience  ;  "I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  being  disrespectful  to  women,  however  aston- 
ishing their  conduct  may  appear.  But  I  am  an  artist,  — 
a  mechanic,  if  you  will.  This  is  my  house,  —  my  picture- 
shop,  as  you  very  properly  observed.  I  am  at  work,  and 
cannot  aiford  to  lose  my  time.  You  are  speaking  of 
things  that  I  know  nothing  about,  and  of  a  lady  that  I 
have  not  the  honor  of  receiving.  If  you  have  no  better 
reason  for  interrupting  me,  allow  me  to  leave  you." 

Taking  his  canvas  and  his  palette,  Julien  left  the 
studio,  after  casting  an  expressive  glance  at  Marcel,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Now  get  out  of  it  as  well  as  you 
can.*- 

"Very  well,"  said  the  marchioness,  by  no  means 
abashed  at  this  formal  dismissal,  "I  remember  what 
the  old  song  says :  '  Let's  search  the  house  a  little.*  I 
will  not  let  you  off  at  all.  I  mean  to  see  the  whole  of 
the  pavilion,  inside  and  out,  up  stairs  and  down,  just  as 
1  have  seen  the  hotel." 

"  This  way,  then,"  said  Marcel,  "  since  you  insist 
upon  it.  But  allow  me  to  speak  to  my  aunt,  whose  room 
is  up  stairs." 

"  No,  by  no  means,"  said  the  dowager,  moving  to- 
wards the  door.  "  I'll  speak  to  her  myself;  and  if  they 
turn  me  out,  —  well,  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  it,  Mr.  At- 
torney.'* 


ANTON  I  A.  165 

"You  are  certainly  out  of  your  senses,"  exclaimed 
Marcel,  involuntarily.  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  really 
suppose  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  hidden  up  there?  Come 
and  see  !  I  will  show  you  the  way.  When  you  are  per- 
fectly satisfied  —  " 

Marcel  was  a  hundred  leagues  away  from  imagining 
that  Julie  was  in  his  aunt's  room.  All  at  once,  as  ho 
suddenly  opened  the  door  of  the  studio,  he  saw  Madam 
d'Estrelle  and  Madam  Thierry  standing  before  him.  He 
stopped  short,  with  an  expression  of  the  most  pitiable 
disappointment. 

Julie  had  heard  the  uproarious  entrance  of  the  mar- 
chioness into  the  studio,  and  Julien  had  come  up  stairs 
to  tell  his  mother  that  a  crazy  woman  was  below  making 
a  disturbance.  He  was  surprised  to  see  Julie,  and,  when 
he  learned  that  the  crazy  woman  was  the  dowager  her- 
self, was  distressed  enough  at  her  presence.  Julie  had 
recognized  her  voice  ;  and  as  she  knew  perfectly  well  that 
the  old  lady  would  hunt  her  to  the  very  garret,  she  made 
up  her  mind  at  once  what  to  do.  Taking  Madam 
Thierry's  arm,  she  said,  — 

"  Come,  it  does  not  suit  me  at  all  to  be  found  in  this 
room,  like  a  criminal  hiding  himself.  I  prefer  to  face 
the  storm ;  and,  since  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so,  I  shall  not 
falter." 

Julien,  desperate,  and  ready  to  give  free  vent  to  his 
anger,  remained  standing  at  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
listening,  and  asking  himself  whether  Marcel  alone  would 
be  able  to  protect  the  two  women,  whom,  of  all  the  world, 
he  loved  and  respected  the  most,  from  being  insulted  by 
this  old  fury. 

But,  most  unexpectedly,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself 
in  the  presence  of  the  two  ladies,  the  face  of  the  dow- 
ager cleared  up,  and  her  anger  seemed  to  disappear.  All 
that  she  had  wanted  was  to  see  with  her  own  eyes  that 
she  had  not  been  misinformed  about  Julie's  friendship 
for  Madam  Thierry,  and  consequently  her  intimacy  with 
Julien,  It  was  rather  a  far-fetched  conclusion,  indeed, 
to  suppose  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  son  because 
she  knew  the  mother ;  but  as  Julien  had  told  the  mar- 


i66  ANTONIA. 

chioness  that  he  did  not  know  Julie,  she  had  some  show 
of  reason  for  believing  what  she  desired  to  believe. 
Quieted  by  her  supposed  discovery,  as  a  vulture  is 
quieted  when  it  seizes  its  prey,  she  burst  into  an  ill- 
natured  laugh,  glanced  triumphantly  at  Marcel,  and  pre- 
pared to  depart  without  saluting  any  one,  or  waiting  to 
be  spoken  to. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Lawyer,"  she  said,  "  I  am  satisfied  ;  I 
have  seen  all  that  I  wanted  to.  Let  us  attend  now  to 
business." 

Julie  was  about  to  reply  to  this  insolent  and  sarcastic 
speech.  She  felt  so  exasperated  that  she  was  ready  to 
reveal  lier  secret  before  them  all.  Calumniated,  treated 
with  contempt,  as  if  guilty  of  a  crime,  she  felt  that  she 
could  recover  her  dignity  only  by  avowing  her  sincere 
and  legitimate  affection.  This  was  very  courageous  in  a 
woman  like  her,  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
contend  with  others.  She  would  not  probably  have  been 
capable  of  forming  such  an  extreme  resolution  with  cool 
deliberation,  at  least  without  Julien*s  consent,  but  indig- 
nation gave  her  courage. 

She  was  not  allowed,  however,  to  carry  out  her  pur- 
pose. Marcel  and  Madam  Thierry  each  of  them  seized 
one  of  her  hands,  and  cried,  as  if  in  unison,  — 

"  Do  not  reply  ;  it  is  beneath  you  to  notice  her." 

While  they  held  her  in  this  way,  the  dowager,  without 
condescending  to  look  at  her,  left  the  house,  and  returned 
to  the  hotel,  followed  by  the  honest  lawyer,  who  had 
been  waiting  for  her  outside,  and  who,  as  he  left,  bowed 
to  Julie  in  a  peculiarly  deferential  manner. 

"  You  see,"  said  Marcel,  "  even  her  own  lawyer  pro- 
tests against  such  insulting  conduct ;  and  now  that  the 
woman  has  taken  off  her  mask,  nobody  will  be  upon  her 
side  as  against  you.  But,  for  God's  sake,  madam,  how 
could  you  have  allowed  yourself  to  be  surprised  in  this 
house,  where  you  never  come  ?  I  must  say  that  you  are 
very  imprudent." 

"  My  dear  Thierry,"  said  Julie,  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you.  Go  and  wind  up  your  business  with  the  mar- 
chioness, yield  everything  as  far  as  the  money  questions 


ANT  ONI  A.  167 

are  concerned,  save  only  my  own  little  fortune,  and  come 
back  to  the  pavilion.     I  will  wait  for  you." 

*'But  why  in  the  pavilion?"  asked  Marcel. 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  you  return,"  said  Julie. 

"  In  fact,  madam,"  said  Julien,  as  soon  as  Marcel  had 
gone,  "  what  unlucky  accident  can  have  induced  you  to 
honor  my  mother  with  a  visit  on  the  very  day  when  your 
mortal  enemy  was  lying  in  wait  for  you  ?  And  why  do 
you  remain  here  now,  as  if  on  purpose  to  confirm  her 
strange  suspicions?  " 

In  spite  of  Julien's  respectful  and  modest  tone,  his 
words  implied  a  sort  of  reprimand  that  astonished  Madam 
Thierry. 

"Julien,"  replied  Madam  d'Estrelle,  with  spirit,  "  the 
moment  for  our  confession  has  come.  It  has  come  sooner 
than  we  expected,  but  it  is  inevitable,  and  I  will  not 
shrink  from  the  duty  it  imposes." 

"  My  excellent  friend,"  she  cried,  throwing  herself  into 
Madam  Thierry's  arms,  "  learn  the  truth.  1  love  Julien  ! 
I  have  engaged  myself  to  him  in  the  most  sacred  man- 
ler.     Embrace  your  daughter,  and  bless  her." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  "  cried  Madam  Thierry,  bewildered, 
and  pressing  Julien  to  her  heart ;  "  are  you  married?  " 

"  Without  your  consent?  Certainly  not,"  cried  Julien, 
embracing  his  mother  in  his  turn.  "  But  we  have  only 
been  waiting  to  beg  your  consent,  until  we  could  do  so 
without  fear  of  distressing  and  alarming  you.  Julie  has 
spoken  sooner  than  I  should  have  wished,  but,  since  she 
has  spoken,  what  can  I  add?  I  have  deceived  you,  my 
dear  mother :  I  love  her  to  distraction,  and  I  am  the 
happiest  of  men,  for  she  loves  me  too." 

Madam  Thierry  was  so  affected  by  this  unexpected 
intelligence,  that  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  could 
speak.  Even  while  overwhelming  both  her  children  with 
the  tenderest  caresses,  she  trembled ;  her  hands  were 
cold,  her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears ;  she  felt  a  singular 
mingling  of  apprehension  and  joy.  The  former  senti- 
ment was  perhaps  predominant,  for  her  first  question  was 
to  ask  Julien  why,  in  spite  of  his  happiness,  he  had 
seemed  inclined  to  reprove  Julie  for  being  too  hasty 


1 68  ANTON  I  A. 

"This  was  the  reason,"  exclaimed  Julie;  "we 
agreed  yesterday  evening,  —  for  we  meet  and  talk  to- 
gether every  evening,  dear  mother,  —  that  we  would 
wait  until  my  business  affairs  should  be  definitely  settled, 
before  revealing  our  secret  to  our  friends,  or  even  to 
you.  I  saw  plainly  that  I  should  soon  be  ruined,  and 
Julien  was  not  at  all  alarmed  at  the  prospect.  He 
wished,  however,  for  my  sake,  that  every  provocation 
should  come  from  the  marchioness ;  and  it  is  certain  that 
my  resolution  to  marry  him,  when  it  is  known,  will 
secure  her  numerous  partizans,  at  least  among  the  re- 
ligious hypocrites  and  social  prudes  of  her  own  circle. 
He  was  right,  I  know,  but  I  cannot  endure  to  be  called 
a  woman  of  gallantry,  and  they  will  be  sure  to  give  me 
that  reputation  if  I  fear  to  acknowledge  the  whole  truth." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Julien  ;  "  it  is  neces- 
sary to  acknowledge  everything  now,  but  your  conduct, 
dear  Julie,  has  precipitated  this  necessity.  I  adore  you 
all  the  more  for  your  rashness,  but  it  was  my  duty  not  to 
lend  myself  to  it.  Love  and  fate  have  overcome  my 
prudence,  and  made  my  self-sacrifice  unavailing.  It  is  no 
longer  time  to  hesitate !  Bless  your  children,  my  dear 
mother  !  Julie  entreats  you,  —  she  wishes  it ;  and  you,  I 
know,  will  be  as  happy  in  giving  us  your  blessing  as  we 
in  receiving  it." 

While  the  inmates  of  the  pavilion  were  thus  indulging 
their  affection.,  the  marchioness  had  established  herself 
in  the  drawing-room  of  the  hotel,  and  was  presiding  at  a 
rigidly  conducted  appraisement  of  both  houses.  Marcel 
fought  bravely  for  his  client,  and  the  notary  made  hon- 
orable but  useless  efforts  to  reconcile  the  conflicting 
claims  of  the  opposing  parties.  The  conclusion  finally 
arrived  at  was  very  mortifying  to  Marcel :  it  proved  im- 
possible to  save  even  Julie's  furniture  from  the  claws  of 
her  enemy.  The  marchioness  considered  that  she  was 
doing  a  great  deal  in  allowing  her  to  retain  her  diamonds 
and  laces.  It  was  necessary  to  submit  to  these  hard 
conditions,  for  the  sale  of  the  property  could  no  longer 
be  delayed,  and  no  competitor  had  appeared  in  the  field. 
Slarcel  had  written  to  uncle  Antoine,  in  hopes  that  he 


ANTONIA.  169 

would  take  a  fancy  to  the  garden,  and  would  buy  it  at  a 
fair  rate,  in  spite  of  his  displeasure  ;  but  uncle  Antoine 
liad  made  no  answer. 

There  was  half  an  hour  of  final  discussion  over  the 
draft  of  the  agreement ;  a  few  erasures  were  made,  and 
some  blanks  filled.  The  dowager  signed,  and  Marcel, 
although  very  discontentedly,  and  with  many  protests, 
prepared  to  submit  the  paper  to  Julie  for  her  accept- 
ance. 

"  Why  isn't  she  here  ? "  cried  the  dowager,  abruptly. 
*'  She  ought  to  be  willing  to  leave  her  dear  pavilion  for  a 
few  minutes,  to  attend  to  such  an  important  matter." 

"  You  will  acknowledge,  madam,"  observed  Marcel, 
"  that  you  have  not  treated  Madam  d'Estrelle  so  kindly 
as  to  make  her  particularly  desirous  to  meet  you  again." 

''  Bah  !  bah  !  She  is  mighty  touchy  !  Come,  Lawyei 
Tiiierry,  go  and  fetch  her,  —  I  am  in  haste  to  go  ;  and  if, 
on  reading  the  agreement,  she  should  be  disposed  to  raise 
objections,  I,  for  my  part,  am  not  at  all  disposed  to  sub- 
mit to  delay.  Let  her  come  and  talk  it  over  here,  —  we 
shall  get  through  all  the  sooner.  What  is  she  afraid  of? 
I  luive  no  further  observations  to  make  on  her  conduct. 
Indeed,  as  things  now  stand,  I  care  very  little  about  it, 
and  I  have  not  reproached  her  either.  Did  I  say  a  single 
word  to  her  just  now?  If  I  have  offended  her  formerly, 
it  was  because  she  chose  to  appeal  to  sentiments  which  I 
am  not  under  any  obligation  to  entertain.  Let  her  avoid 
recriminations,  and  I  will  promise  not  to  humiliate  her." 

"  If  you  will  send  her  a  conciliatory  message,"  said 
Marcel,  "  expressed  in  polite  and  friendly  language,  I 
will  do  my  best  to  persuade  her  to  come." 

"  Besides,"  added  the  notary,  "  the  marchioness  has 
no  doubt  some  arrangements  to  suggest  beyond  the  mere 
terms  of  the  agreement.  '  She  will,  of  course,  allow 
Madam  d'Estrelle  time  to  find  a  lodging,  before  vacating 
the  hotel." 

"  Certainly,  certainly  I  will,"  said  the  marchioness ; 
''  I  intend  to  do  so.     Come,  Master  Thierry,  go  !  " 

Marcel  hurried  to  the  pavilion,  and  persuaded  Julie  to 
return  with  him.      He  imagined  that  the  marchioness, 


170  ANTONIA. 

in  her  satisfaction  at  having  made  a  good  bargain, 
wished  to  offer  some  little  reparation  for  her  ill-natured 
conduct ;  and  he  appealed  to  Julie's  generosity,  and  per- 
haps to  her  prudence,  not  to  reject  the  formal  reconcilia- 
tion which  is  customary  in  such  cases. 

They  had  no  time  to  make  any  explanation  to  Marcel 
at  the  pavilion.  Julie,  however,  said  to  Madam  Thierry, 
in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  You  know  what  my  means  are  now ;  my  income 
is  very  small,  but,  by  selling  my  jewels,  we  shall  have 
enough  to  purchase  the  house  at  Sevres.  I  am  a  suitable 
match,  therefore,  for  Julien,  and  I  am  thankful  that  the 
affair  has  terminated  in  this  way." 

The  marchioness  concealed  her  impatience  at  being 
kept  waiting  for  a  few  minutes,  and  begged  Julie  to  read 
the  agreement,  and  sign  it,  with  something  like  polite- 
ness. Julie  took  up  the  pen,  but,  hearing  nothing  of 
the  friendly  demonstrations  that  Marcel  had  led  her  to 
anticipate,  she  hesitated  a  little,  and  looked  at  the  notary 
as  if  asking  his  advice.  The  deference  that  this  showed 
did  not  escape  the  quick  perception  of  the  lawyer,  who 
felt  a  decided  sympathy  for  her. 

"  This  is  the  proper  time,"  he  said  to  his  harsh  old 
client,  "to  state  to  Madam  d'Estrelle  your  kind  intentions 
about  taking  possession  under  the  agreement." 

"  Ah,  oh  yes,  undoubtedly,"  said  the  marchioness ; 
"  I  wish  to  take  possession  of  the  hotel  at  once  :  to-mor- 
row, at  farthest.  I  will  allow  madam,  however,  the  use 
of  the  pavilion  for  three  or  four  months." 

"The  pavilion?"  said  Marcel,  in  surprise.  "The 
pavilion  is  leased.  The  marchioness  is  surely  aware 
that  it  is  occupied  under  a  nine  years'  lease." 

"  The  lease  is  void,  M.  Thierry,  for  I  did  not  sign  it ; 
and,  by  the  terms  of  my  marriage  settlement,  the  Mar- 
quis d'Estrelle  could  not  dispose  of  his  property  in  any 
way  without  my  signature." 

"•  Then  Madam  Thierry  will  have  to  move,  and  without 
obtaining  an  indemnity." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her,  but  you  know  my  marriage  con 


ANTONIA. 


171 


tract  by  heart.     Look  at  the  lease,  and  you  will  see  that 
it  is  void." 

She  took  the  lease  out  of  her  pocket,  and  showed  it 
to  him.     He  examined  it,  and  was  silent. 

''  What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  marchioness,  laughing 
at  Marcel's  consternation.  •'  The  countess  will  still  be 
in  a  condition  to  make  up  to  Madam  Thierry  for  this 
little  annoyance.  One  does  not  reckon  closely  with  one's 
friends." 

"You  are  quite,  right  madame,"  answered  Julie,  with 
dignity ;  "  and  I  thank  you  for  affording  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  proving  my  devotion  to  Madam  Thierry.  I 
decline  your  very  kind  offer.  Madam  Thierry  and  I 
will  leave  your  premises  together,  within  an  hour." 

"  Together ?"  said  the  marchioness.  "It  is  unnec- 
essary to  be  so  open  about  it  as  that,  madam  !  " 

Julie  was  upon  the  point  of  replying,  when  a  vigorous 
ring  at  the  door  of  the  ante-chamber  startled  the  mar- 
chioness. 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  have  no  useless  quarrelling,"  she 
said,  suddenly  changing  her  tone  ;  "  there  are  some  visi- 
tors, —  sign,  my  dear,  and  be  done  with  it." 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  valet  de  chambre  entered  to 
announce  somebody,  and  she  cried  out,  — 

"  Say  that  we  can  see  no  one  just  now.  Let  them 
wait." 

"  Pardon  mc,  madam,"  interrupted  Julie,  offended  at 
this  assumption  of  dignity  in  her  presence,  "  it  is  my 
house  yet." 

Marcel,  who  had  noticed  the  sudden  impatience  of  the 
marchioness,  felt  impelled  by  a  vague,  but  irresistible  im- 
pulse, to  gain  time.  He  took  the  pen  out  of  Julie's  hands. 
The  marchioness  turned  pale.     Marcel  saw  it. 

"  Sliall  I  announce  ?  "  inquired   the  servant  of  Julie. 

*'  Yes ! "  exclaimed  Marcel,  vehemently,  for  he  had 
espied  the  visitor's  face  through  the  half-open  door. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Julie,  agitated  because  she  saw  Mar- 
cel's excitement. 

"  M.  Antoine  Thierry  I "  said  the  servant,  in  a  loud 
voice. 


172 


ANTON  I  A. 


Julie,  in  surprise,  arose.  The  marchioness,  who  wag 
stauding,  sat  down  with  an  angry  gesture.  The  horti- 
culturist came  in,  embarrassed  and  awkward  as  usual, 
but  carrying  as  high  as  ever  that  irascible  face  of  his, 
which  always,  with  its  resolute,  haughty  expression,  con- 
trasted so  strangely  with  his  timid  manner.  Without 
exactly  saluting  any  one,  and  advancing  in  a  zig-zag 
course,  but  very  quickly,  he  went  up  to  the  table  where 
lay  the  contract,  with  the  inkstand  beside  it.  Then  he 
turned  to  Julie : 

''  Have  you  just  been  concluding  some  transaction  ?  " 
he  said,  in  an  angry  tone,  and  yet  with  a  certain  expres- 
sion of  anxiety  and  solicitude. 

''  Nothing  at  all  is  concluded,"  answered  Marcel,  "  since 
you  have  got  here.  Possibly  you  may  have  some  offer 
to  make,  uncle.*' 

*'  No  one  can  make  any  offer,"  cried  the  marchioness, 
in  a  great  state  of  excitement ;  "  the  bargain  is  closed. 
I  appeal  to  the  good  faith —  " 

''  Good  faith  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  madam,"  said 
Marcel ;  "  we  were  just  about  submitting  to  extremely 
hard  conditions.  No  one  can  blame  a  criminal  condemned 
to  death,  no  matter  how  resigned  he  might  be,  for  ac- 
cepting a  pardon  that  reached  him  unexpectedly.  Come, 
uncle ;  you  have  a  fancy  for  the  hotel  d'Estrelle.  I 
can  say  more  than  that :  you  need  it ;  you  can  remove 
the  boundary  wall,  and  make  a  splendid  addition  to  your 
garden.  The  hotel  de  Melcy  is  cold,  old,  gloomy,  and 
badly  situated.  This  house  is  cheerful  and  agreeable ; 
cool  in  summer,  warm  in  winter.  You  want  it.  You 
mean  to  buy  it.     Don't  you  ?  " 

"  This  is  infamous,"  cried  the  marchioness.  "  The 
consent  of  the  countess  is  equivalent  to  a  signature.  No 
one  ever  withdrew  from  a  promise  so  late  as  this  !  " 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  retorted  Marcel,  '*you  had 
fair  warning.  I  waited  up  to  the  very  last  moment ;  I 
told  you  three  times  over,  while  we  were  discussing,  that 
if  the  door  should  open  that  moment,  and  any  other  pur- 
chaser whatever  should  appear,  I  would  at  once  tear  up 
this  agreement,  which  I  consider  an  altogether  deplorable 


ANTONIA, 


173 


one  for  my  client.  I  only  submitted,  —  I  did  not  consent ; 
I  appeal  to  my  colleague  here  to  witness  that  it  was  so. 
Uncle,  you  are  yourself  a  recognized  authority  in  busi- 
ness transactions.  Say,  have  I  the  right  to  put  a  stop  to 
further  proceedings  until  you  shall  have  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak?" 

"  Certainly,'*  answered  M.  Antoine ;  "  and  the  more 
80,  since  my  rights  in  the  matter  take  precedence  over 
those  of  the  marchioness.  Let's  see  what  this  instru- 
ment is !  " 

He  read  it,  and  observed,  — 

"  This  is  not  my  appraisement  at  all,  marchioness ; 
you  pluck  the  bird  too  close,  and  oblige  me  to  remind  you 
of  our  little  understanding.'* 

"  Go  on,  sir ;  make  your  bid !  "  cried  the  dowager ; 
"  I  can't  contend  with  a  man  that  possesses  millions. 
I  withdraw  altogether,  and  leave  the  field  to  you." 

*'  Wait,  wait !  "  replied  Antoine  ;  "  you  and  I  can  come 
to  an  understanding  in  half  a  word,  madam  !  I  can  ar- 
range this  affair  in  a  way  to  satisfy  all  parties.  But  it 
depends  upon  you. " 

"'  Never !  "  cried  the  marchioness,  indignantly ;  "  you 
are  a  fool,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  have  accepted  your  ser- 
vices !  " 

She  went  straight  out  of  the  room,  forgetting  all  about 
her  lawyer.  Antoine,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the 
door  through  which  she  had  departed,  remained  silent, 
darkly  frowning,  and  plunged  in  some  mysterious  medi- 
tation. 

'^  They  have  an  understanding  against  me,"  whispered 
Julie  to  Marcel ;  "  what  are  they  going  to  do  now?  " 

*'  Have  patience,"  answered  Marcel ;  "  I  think  I  can 
guess." 

They  had  no  time  for  further  observations.  M.  An- 
toine started  from  his  reverie,  and  turned  to  the  lawyer. 

*'  Well,"  he  said,  "  how  do  we  stand?  What  has  been 
decided." 

''  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  monsieur,"  replied  the 
notary,  gathering  up  his  papers,  and  looking  for  his  spec- 
tacles, "  the  transactions  between  yourself  and  the  mar- 


174 


ANTONIA 


chioness  are  at  an  end.  My  client  seems  to  have  given  Uf 
the  object  she  was  in  pursuit  of,  and  I  must  take  new 
orders  from  her  before  moving  further  in  the  matter." 

"  Then  it  is  entirely  between  you  and  me?"  said  M. 
Antoine  to  Julie,  while  the  notary  was  taking  his  de- 
parture. 

''No,  monsieur,"  she  said,  referring  him  to  Marcel-, 
"I  beg  permission  to  leave  you  together." 

"  But  why?"  asked  Antoine,  in  a  strange  sort  of  hearts 
broken  tone,  and  making  a  gesture  as  if  to  detain  her, 
although  without  venturing  even  to  touch  her  sleeve. 
"  Wiiy  are  you  angry  with  me,  Madam  d'Estrelle?  All 
that  I  have  done  has  been  in  your  interest.  Why  will 
you  not  let  me  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Very  true,"  said  Marcel ;  "  why  should  she  refuse? 
Come,  madam,  have  patience,  and  listen  ;  it  seems  to  be 
our  lot  to  have  to  face  the  enemy  along  the  whole  line  to- 
day ! " 

Julie  resumed  lier  seat,  casting  upon  M.  Antoine  a 
cold  and  severe  look,  which  completely  disconcerted  him. 
He  hesitated,  stammered,  and  uttered  only  unintelligible 
sounds. 

"  Come,"  said  Marcel,  "  you  will  never  get  it  out,  my 
poor  uncle  !  Let  me  cross-question  you.  To  begin  at 
the  beginning :  why  was  it  that  you  mysteriously  left 
Paris  on  the  morning  after  a  certain  tragic  experience 
which  befell  one  of  your  plants?" 

"What,  are  you  going  to  talk  about  that?"  cried 
Antoine,  his  little  round  eyes  beginning  to  flash  furi- 
ously. 

''  Yes,  about  everything.  Answer,  or  I  will  carry  off 
the  judge,  and  you  will  remain  condemned." 

''  Condemned  to  what?"  said  Antoine,  looking  towards 
Julie  ;  "  to  her  hatred?  " 

Marcel  was  trying  to  bring  his  uncle  to  acknowledge 
his  repentance,  but,  in  spite  of  his  signs  to  the  contrary, 
Madam  d'Estrelle  interrupted  him. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "  to  my  blame  and  pity." 

"Your  pity  !     Pity  for  me  ! "  he  cried,  in  a  rage. 


ANTON  I  A,  175 

"  No  one  ever  used  that  word  to  me  before,  and  if  you 
were  not  a  woman  —  " 

He  paused,  and  turned  to  Marcel : 

"  Pity  is  another  word  for  contempt,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
if  it  is  by  your  advice  that  she  talks  to  me  so,  I'll  make 
you  pay  well  for  it." 

^"Thcn  justify  yourself  if  you  can,"  answered  Marcel, 
bolrUy ;  "  for  if  your  conduct  has  really  been  as  treacher- 
ous as  it  seems,  you  are  simply  a  detestable  man,  and 
every  honorable  woman  whom  you  have  insulted  has  a 
right  to  tell  you  so." 

"  How  have  I  insulted  her  ?  I  have  insulted  nobody. 
I  saw  that  she  was  going  to  throw  herself  away.  I 
wanted  to  keep  her  from  —  " 

"  Throw  herself  away !  You  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about.  There  are  certain  dangers  that  a  woman 
like  Madam  d'Estrelle  never  knows,  by  which  she  cannot 
be  assailed." 

"  Words  !  Words  !  I  don't  trouble  myself  about 
phrases  learned  out  of  books.  When  a  woman  gives 
rendezvous  to  a  young  man  —  " 

'*  Rendezvous  ?  Where  did  you  pick  up  such  non- 
sense ?     Whoever  told  you  that,  is  a  liar !  " 

"You  are  a  liar  yourself !  You,  the  accomplice,  the 
confidant  —  " 

"  There,  stop,  uncle  !  Damnation  !  You  will  drive 
me  beyoud  all  bounds." 

"  Get  beyond  all  bounds,  if  you  want  to  !  I  saw  you 
coming  out  of  the  theatre  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  And  what  of  that  ?     My  wife  —  " 

"  Bah  !  Your  wife  is  a  goose  !  I  saw  Julien  coming 
out  too." 

"  Julien  was  not  with  us.  He  did  not  know  that  we 
were  on  the  ground-floor  in  the  theatre  any  more  than 
we  knew  that  he  was  in  the  gallery.  And,  besides,  sup- 
pose he  had  been  with  us,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
mania  for  bringing  accusations  —  " 

"  Accusations  !  "  cried  M.  Antoine.  "  I  accuse  no- 
body except  those  who  are  guilty !  And  how  about 
walking  arm-in-arm  in  the  night  from  the  hotel  d'Or- 


176  ANTONIA, 

monde  to  the  pavilion,  where,  by  the  way,  madam 
remained  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning?  It  is  pos- 
sible that  Madam  Andre  may  have  been  present  during  the 
interview,  I  don't  deny  that ;  but  that  is  only  an  additional 
reason  for  bringing  accusations,  as  you  say,  you  ass  of  a 
lawyer !  And  how  about  all  the  meetings  at  night  in  the 
garden,  that  always  keep  her  out  until  two  o'clock,  and 
sometimes  later?" 

'*  Where  on  earth  did  you  pick  up  this  footman's  scan- 
dal?" cried  Marcel.  "  In  what  servants'  hall  have  you 
raked  together  such  a  heap  of  slanders  ?  " 

"•  I  don't  hang  about  servants'  halls,  and  I  don't  get 
my  information  from  footmen.  I  have  a  secret  police  of 
my  own.  I  have  money  enough  to  pay  a  few  sharp  peo- 
ple, who  keep  on  the  look-out,  and  tell  me  the  truth.  I 
don't  deny  it.  I  wanted  to  know  what  madam's  feelings 
were,  and  what  her  reason  was  for  insulting  me  by  com- 
missioning Julien  to  turn  me  off.  I  had  a  right  to  do  so, 
and  if  I  revenged  myself  as  I  could,  I  had  a  right  to  do 
that  too." 

Madam  d'Estrelle,  who  had  fully  resolved  to  reveal 
everything,  and  take  the  consequences,  listened  to  uncle 
Antoine  with  proud  indifference.  The  brutality  of  his 
discourse, — which  she  attributed  to  a  diseased  mind,  and 
excused  on  account  of  his  want  of  education,  —  did  not 
wound  her  like  the  intentional  and  deliberate  impertinence 
of  the  marchioness.  While  his  uncle  was  making  his 
agreeable  remarks.  Marcel  observed  her,  and,  in  her  dis- 
dainful and  smiling  serenity,  read  a  denial  of  his  slan- 
ders more  eloquent  than  any  words. 

''  Look,"  he  cried,  actually  shaking  the  old  man  to 
make  him  hold  his  tongue,  "  look  for  a  moment  at  the 
woman  whose  reputation  you  are  daring  to  assail !  See 
how  superior  she  is  to  the  dreams  and  lies  with  which 
you  have  been  crammed !  You  cannot  bring  the  faintest 
blush  to  her  forehead ;  her  silence  confounds  your  noisy 
brutality !  " 

"  I  shall  speak  when  the  time  comes,"  said  Julie. 
"  Let  M.  Thierry  go  on.  You  see  that  he  does  not  pro- 
voke me  ;  and,  after  he  has  fully  exposed  my  conduct,  i 


ANTONIA.  177 

shall  expect  him  to  give  me  an  account  of  his.  You  are 
suffering  under  my  just  indignation,  Monsieur  Antoine 
Thierry :  do  not  forget  that.  You  pretend  that  you  are 
innocent.     It  remains  for  you  to  prove  your  assertion." 

The  old  man  was  silenced  for  a  moment,  but  he  quickly 
recovered  himself. 

''  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  despise  me  if  you  choose.  I 
shall  be  able  to  bear  up  under  your  contempt  easily 
enough.  My  own  good  opinion  will  be  sufficient  for  mc. 
I  have  been  angry,  it  is  true  enough.  I  have  spoken 
about  you  in  anger,  and  have  tried  to  revenge  myself.  I 
sliiill  deny  nothing  that  I  have  done.  And  yet  I  do 
not  hate  you,  —  it  only  depends  on  you  to  have  me  for  a 
friend." 

"  Confess  before  you  beg  for  absolution,"  cried  Mar- 
cel;  "what  has  happened?  what  have  you  been  doing? 
Tell  us." 

"  What  has  happened?  This  is  what  has  happened. 
Mordi  1  Chance  helped  me  to  gratify  my  anger.  The 
Dowager  d'Estrelle  applied  to  me  to  do  her  a  service. 
Two  or  three  days  before  her  husband's  death  I  was  asked 
to  call  upon  her.  I  had  known  her  long  ago  in  connec- 
tion with  some  land  that  she  sold  me,  and  cheap  enough 
too.  She  was  not  so  good  a  business  woman  then  as  now. 
Well,  I  went.  She  said  to  me  :  '  My  husband  cannot 
last  long,  as  every  one  knows.  I  am  his  heir,  but  I  will 
not  pay  his  son's  debts  unless  the  countess  surrenders  her 
dower  to  me,  and  I  want  to  buy  up  the  debts  so  as  to 
force  her  to  do  this.  Furnish  me  the  money,  and  you 
shall  have  part  of  the  spoils.  I  will  pay  you  for  the  ac- 
commodation.* So  I  answered  :  '  Pardon  me,  madam  , 
I  want  myself  to  show  that  lady  that  she  is  in  my  power ; 
but  I  want,  also,  to  be  in  a  position  to  forgive  her  if  I 
should  choose.'  Says  she :  •  Ah,  what !  What  have 
you  against  her  ? '  And  says  I :  '  Just  what  I  have.* 
*  But  what  is  it?*  'No  matter.*  '  Tell  me  —  *  and  so 
forth.  In  short,  to  come  to  an  end  of  the  matter,  from 
one  word  to  the  other,  I  did  finally  tell  her  the  whole 
story  ;  I  said  that  I  had  wanted  to  be  a  friend  to  the 
countess,  ar'1  had  been  treated  like  a  pirate,  and  that  the 


178  ANTONIA. 

reason  was  she  had  been  influenced  by  the  intrigues  of 
Madame  Andre  Thierry,  who  wanted  to  marry  her  son 
to  a  great  lady,  out  of  vanity,  and  to  get  others  in  the 
same  fix  with  herself,  —  like  the  fox  who  had  his  tail  cut 
off,  in  the  story.  The  marchioness  was  pleased  to  find 
out  all  this,  and  she  led  me  on  to  say  perhaps  more  than 
I  meant  to,  especially  as  I  found  it  agreeable  to  tell  her 
about  my  troubles.  Finally,  when  she  had  got  it  all  out 
of  me,  she  said :  '  M.  Thierry,  we  must  let  this  splendid 
marriage  go  on ;  it  suits  me !  *  And  said  I :  '  But  it 
doesn't  suit  me  ! '  '  What !  In  love  at  your  age  ?  —  an- 
gry ?  — jealous  !  —  who  would  have  believed  it  ? '  '  No, 
madam,  I  am  not  in  love  at  my  age  ;  but  at  my  age  one 
does  not  like  to  be  fooled,  and  I  have  been  fooled.  I  am 
not  a  bad  man,  but  I  have  power,  and  I  mean  it  to  be 
understood.  It  does  not  suit  me  to  proceed  against  her 
myself;  but,  if  it  amuses  you  to  torment  her,  do  it ;  plague 
her  well !  When  you  have  got  through,  if  she  asks  my 
pardon,  I  will  forgive  her.'  '  Very  good,'  the  marchioness 
said,  '  I  swear  to  abide  by  this  understanding  with  you  in 
good  faith ;  so  advance  me  the  money.  Here  is  my 
note  of  hand,  and  you  have  my  word  besides.*  She  sent 
for  me  again  after  the  old  marquis  was  buried.  I  had 
plenty  of  fine  stories  by  that  time  about  the  doings  in  this 
house ;  I  told  her  all  of  them,  and  the  idea  of  bringing 
down  the  pride  of  the  countess  pleased  us  both.  The 
dowager  said  to  me  then:  'Now  revenge  yourself;  I 
mean  to  follow  her  to  the  uttermost.*  But  I  always  an- 
swered :  '  Go  on,  but  keep  me  informed.  I  shall  redeem 
the  property,  if  she  will  reform.*  Now  you  understand  ; 
madam  dowager  deceived  me,  but  I  got  here  in  time. 
That  breaks  up  all  my  arrangements  with  her.  She  is  a 
craity  woman,  but  she  shall  pay  me  for  it,  — that's  all !  *' 

"  You  ha\e  not  told  the  whole,  uncle.  There  was  some 
other  question  discussed  between  you.  You  said  to  her 
just  now,  '  It  only  depends  upon  you  to  arrange  all  these 
matters.'  '* 

"  Oh,  that's  my  business.  It  has  nothing;  to  do  with 
you  at  all." 


ANTONIA.  179 

"  Excuse  me ;    and  in  what  an   angry  tone  she  an« 
swered,  Never  1 " 

''  She's  an  old  fool !  " 

"  But  really,  what  did  she  mean  ?  " 

"Why?  Goto  the  devil,  will  you  ?  Mind  your  own 
business !  " 

"  Confess  the  truth,  then ;  you  have  some  other  pro- 
ject on  foot." 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  not." 

Marcel  persisted  that  he  had. 

"  It  is  all  perfectly  clear  to  me,  uncle,"  he  said  ;  "  un- 
able to  marry  a  countess,  you  took  it  into  your  head  to 
marry  a  marchioness.  In  fact,  it  was  a  much  more  rea- 
sonable plan  than  your  first  one  :  the  age  and  the  fortune 
of  the  marchioness  are  suited  to  yours  ;  but  I  see  that  you 
have  failed  in  that  quarter  also.  She  encouraged  you, 
lured  you  on,  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  a  little  money  ; 
and  all  the  while  she  was  working  secretly,  and  without 
your  knowledge,  to  get  possession  of  the  property  of  the 
countess.  If  you  had  come  a  few  minutes  later,  she 
would  have  accomplished  her  designs,  and  you  would 
neither  have  been  married  nor  revenged." 

Antoine  listened  to  this  expostulation  with  his  head 
down.  He  seemed  to  be  meditating  ;  but  from  under  his 
eyebrows  he  looked  at  Madam  d'Estrelle,  and  saw  her 
surprise,  and  the  ironical  smile  which  she  could  not  conceal, 
"As  for |Dot  being  married  to  that  sharper  of  an  old 
woman,"  he  said  at  last,  rising,  "  I  thank  God  for  my 
escape.  But  as  for  my  revenge,  I  intend  to  have  it. 
The  devil  shall  not  rob  me  of  it." 

"  What  is  it  to  be  ?  "  said  Julie,  calmly. 
"Who  said  that  it  was  going  to  be  against  you?" 
cried  uncle  Antoine,  whose  tongue  always  broke  loose 
when  there  was  least  occasion  to  expect  it ;  "I  have 
known  three  women  in  my  life,  and  they  have  all  laughed 
at  me,  as  if  I  were  a  little  boy.  Women  indeed  !  They 
don't  know  any  better !  The  first  was  Madam  Andre 
Thierry,  who  called  me  her  brother  and  friend,  and  so 
gave  me  confidence.  You  were  the  second,  —  you  who 
called  me  your  good  friend  and  dear  neighbor,  so  as  to 


I  So  ANT  ON  I  A. 

get  me  to  give  your  lover  a  fortune  ;  and  the  third,  —  oh  ! 
that  one  called  me  her  dear  monsieur  and  her  excellent 
creditor,  —  and  she  is  the  Voorst  of  all  the  three,  for  she 
only  wanted  to  pluck  me,  —  the  miserly  old  thing  !  Con- 
sequently I  shall  make  her  pay  for  both  the  others.  As 
for  you.  Madam  d'Estrelle,  I  pardon  and  excuse  you ! 
Love  makes  people  commit  great  follies,  but,  at  all  events, 
it  is  love  ;  a  sort  of  infatuation  which,  as  it  would  seem, 
confuses  the  brain  and  disables  the  reason.  So  be  it, 
madam !  Give  me  your  friendship  again,  and  do  not 
talk  any  longer  of  marrying  either  me  or  the  other  one. 
I  wish  you  nothing  but  good  ;  and  I  shall  prevent  you  from 
having  my  nephew  the  painter,  because  my  nephew  the 
painter  has  not  done  what  was  right  by  me,  and  because 
it  is  not  suitable  for  you  to  marry  a  painter." 

"  There,  then !"  interrupted  Marcel,  "you  were  just 
beginning  to  talk  sense,  and  now  your  mania  has  seized 
you  again.  You  seem  to  be  really  insane  upon  that 
point.     Who  the  devil  suggested  it  to  you  ?  '* 

"It  is  time  for  this  discussion  to  end,"  said  Julie; 
"  you  and  I,  M.  Marcel,  do  not  understand  each  other. 
Perfectly  sincere  in  my  intentions,  —  which  I  avowed 
plainly  enough  in  your  presence  to  the  marchioness,  —  I 
am  tired  of  seeming  to  feign.  Listen  to  me,  therefore  :  I 
declare  to  both  of  you,  that  my  marriage  to  Julien  Thierry 
is  agreed  upon  and  sworn  to  beyond  recall.  Yes,  Marcel, 
you  are  to  be  my  cousin  !  Yes,  M.  Antoine,  you  are  to 
be  my  uncle  !  All  your  information  was  perfectly  cor- 
rect, and  you  can  pay  your  spies  liberally.  And  now 
tliat  1  have  made  this  declaration,  you  will  understand 
that  I  must  withdraw  the  harsh  expressions  that  I  have 
used  in  referring  to  your  conduct  towards  me.  What- 
ever that  conduct  may  have  been,  respect  for  a  kinsman 
will  keep  me  silent.  You  are  free  to  abuse  me,  to  slander 
me,  to  rob  me.  I  will  not  reply,  but  neither  will  I  en- 
treat your  forbearance.  I  have  done  nothing  for  which 
to  ask  your  forgiveness,  and,  if  you  reduce  me  to  poverty, 
you  will  only  increase  my  esteem  and  gratitude  towards 
him  who,  even  under  such  circumstances,  is  willing  to  be 
my  guardian  and  protector." 


ANTONIA.  l8i 

Marcel  was  too  surprised  to  speak.  His  uncle  looked 
at  him  with  an  expression  of  triumph  ;  but  when  he  saw 
how  genuine  his  astonishment  was,  he  became  more 
gloomy  and  irritated  than  ever  at  the  idea  of  being  defied 
to  his  face  by  Madam  d'Estrelle. 

"  It  is  decided,  then,"  he  said,  rising ;  "  you  are  re- 
solved :  vou  will  not  even  listen  to  my  final  proposi- 
tions?" 

''  By  no  means,"  cried  Marcel.  "  State  them.  For 
my  part,  I  do  not  approve  Madam  d'Estrelle's  deter- 
mination, and  I  declare  to  you  plainly  that  I  shall  oppose 
this  marriage  with  all  my  power.  Speak,  uncle ;  fur- 
nish me  with  arguments." 

"  You  are  right,  for  once,"  said  M.  Antoine ;  "  but 
she  don't  think  so  !  See  how  contemptuous  she  is  ;  see 
with  what  an  obstinate,  scornful  look  she  turns  her  head 
away  !  —  Oh,  she  is  w^orthy  to  be  the  niece  of  my-sister- 
in-hiw, — she  will  treat  me  just  as  she  did  !  Tell  her  your- 
self, Marcel,  what  I  propose  to  do,  provided  she  will  give 
up  her  dauber  of  tulips !  I  will  give  her  a  release  from 
all  her  debts  ;  I  will  leave  her  in  possession  of  her  hotel, 
her  garden,  her  pavilion,  her  diamonds,  her  farm  du 
Beauvoisis  ;  in  short,  of  all  her  property." 

"  Stay,  stay  !  "  said  Marcel  to  Julie,  as  she  was  about 
to  reply. 

*'  No,"  exclaimed  Julie  ;  "  I  will  accept  nothing  from 
a  person  who  speaks  of  Julien  and  Madam  Thierry  with 
such  aversion  and  contempt.  I  do  not  mind  the  injury 
he  has  done  me.  I  pardon  monsieur  for  having  ex- 
posed me  to  the  sarcasms  and  insults  of  the  marchioness, 
and  her  circle ;  but  the  enemies  of  those  whom  I  love 
can  never  be  my  friends,  and  I  reject  their  benefits  as 
an  insult." 

"  Wait,  wait  until  you  hear  all ! "  cried  M.  Antoine, 
stamping  upon  the  floor.  "Are  you  possessed  by  a  devil? 
You  think  1  mean  to  ruin  your  friends.  Not  at  all ;  I  shall 
give  them  the  house  at  Sevres,  which  belongs  to  me  yet, 
if  you  please  ;  I  will  secure  them  an  income  and  a  good 
part  of  my  inheritance,  for  my  property  is  to  be  divided 
among  yourself,  Julien,  and  this  ass  of  a  lawyer  here  !  I 


l82  ANTONIA, 

propose  to  make  you  all  rich  and  happy,  on  one  single 
condition ;  and  that  is,  that  the  pavilion  be  vacated  in- 
stantly, and  that  you  all  swear  upon  your  honor,  and 
sign  your  names  to  the  oath,  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  will 
never  see  Julien  again." 

This  time  it  was  Julie  who  was  struck  dumb.  Al- 
though there  was  really  something  of  insanity  in  this 
inexorable  old  man,  there  was  also  a  sort  of  fierce  gran- 
deur in  the  magnificent  way  in  which  he  accepted  any 
sacrifice  necessary  to  secure  the  success  of  his  jealousy. 
He  showed  great  shrewdness,  moreover,  in  putting 
Madam  d'Estrelle  in  a  position  where,  if  she  ventured 
to  oppose  him,  Julieu's  interests,  Madam  Thierry's, 
and  Marcel's,  would  be  sacrificed.  Marcel,  however,  de- 
termined not  to  be  made  use  of  in  any  way,  hastened  to 
reply,  with  great  dignity  and  nobility : 

••'  Uncle,"  he  said  to  M.  Autoine,  "  you  will  make 
such  future  arrangements  in  regard  to  me  as  you  may 
see  fit.  You  know  me  too  well  to  imagine  that  any  ex- 
pectations of  the  kind  would  weigh  against  my  con- 
science. I  said,  a  moment  ago,  that  I  did  not  approve  of 
Madam  d'Estrelle's  determination,  and  it  will  be  my  duty 
to  submit  to  her  certain  suggestions  upon  the  subject. 
But  understand  me  at  once :  if  she  is  not  persuaded  by 
ray  arguments,  I  shall  never  hint  to  her  that  her  resistance 
has  injured  me  with  you;  my  conduct  shall  never  be 
influenced  by  a  regard  for  my  own  interests.  Lastly,  if 
she  and  Julien  shall  persist  in  their  intention  of  marry- 
ing, 1  will  assist  them  in  every  possible  Vv'ay  with  my 
advice,  my  services ;  I  will  be  eternally  their  friend, 
their  kinsman,  and  their  obedient  servant." 

Julie  silently  held  out  her  hand  to  the  lawyer.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  looked  at  Antoine,  but 
could  read  nothing  but  immovable  obstinacy  in  his  horny 
and  copper-colored  visage. 

''  Let  us  go  to  Madam  Thierry  and  Julien,"  she  said, 
rising  ;  "  it  is  for  them  to  decide." 

''Not  by  any  means  !  "  cried  M.  Antoine.  "  I'll  have 
no  one  taken  unawares.  At  first,  I  know  very  well  that 
the  painter  will  play  the  great  man,  and  that  his  mother 


ANTONIA.  1S5 

will  put  on  her  grand  airs.  Besides,  they  will  be  ashamed 
to  yield  before  madame :  it  will  not  do  to  be  loss 
proud  than  she ;  although  they  repent  an  hour  after- 
wards, they  will  say  exactly  what  she  does.  I  will  wait 
for  my  answer  until  to-morrow,  and  I  will  come  here  to 
receive  it.  In  the  meanwhile,  lawyer,  carry  ray  final 
proposition  to  your  protegees,  and  you,  my  beautiful 
friend,  reflect  upon  it  also.  We  shall  see  whether  you 
four  will  agree  to  refuse  both  my  present  gifts,  and  my 
future  bequests.  Good-day,  Madam  d'Estrelle.  To- 
morrow, at  this  place,  at  noon  ! " 

As  he  went  out,  Julie,  pale  and  exhausted,  fell  back 
upon  her  chair.  He  returned  a  moment  after  he  had 
gone  out  of  the  room,  and  looked  in  at  her.  Certain 
that  he  had  succeeded  in  breaking  down  even  her  pride 
and  courage,  he  departed  in  triumph. 


VII, 


"V/TARCEL  was  a  prudent  man  ;  this  was  his  natural 
^^  disposition,  and  his  professional  career  had  strength- 
ened it.  It  is  possible  to  be  both  practical  and  generous. 
It  was  under  the  influence  of  both  these  sentiments 
that  he  considered  the  position  of  the  two  lovers,  and 
argued  with  Julie. 

"  Madam,'*  he  said,  taking  her  hand  with  an  affec- 
tionate good-will,  in  which  there  was  nothing  oflTensive, 
"  to  begin  with,  I  must  be  left  out  of  the  account  in  this 
whole  business.  Provided  Julien  and  his  mother  are  as 
courageous  and  devoted  as  you  are,  instead  of  dissuading 
them  from  making  the  sacrifice  in  question,  I  shall  admire 
it.  And,  at  the  outset,  do  not  exaggerate  the  consequences 
of  your  present  determination  upon  the  future.  M.  Au- 
toiue  is  undoubtedly  a  man  of  his  word  ;  both  in  good  and 
evil  he  does  as  he  agrees.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to 
conjecture  anything  about  the  provisions  of  his  will,  since 
he  may  marry  at  any  moment.     It  is  certainly  strange  to 


184  ANT  ON  I  A. 

see  an  old  bachelor,  —  a  hater  of  women  and  of  love,  — 
seized,  in  his  declining  years,  with  a  rage  for  matrimonj. 
But  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  a  sort  of  monomania,  no 
promises  or  resolutions  that  he  may  make  will  save  him. 
He  will  find,  without  doubt,  what  he  is  looking  for ;  some 
woman  with  a  title,  no  matter  whether  young  or  old,  re- 
spectable or  otherwise,  handsome  or  ugly,  will  be  tempted 
by  his  money,  and  will  get  possession  of  all  his  estate. 
This  simplifies  the  question,  since  we  need  not  take  the 
final  division  of  the  property  among  ourselves  into  con- 
sideration. We  can  only  reckon  on  present  arrangements 
as  certain ;  and  in  these,  you  know,  I  am  not  a  party. 
Let  us  examine,  then,  the  questions  immediately  before 
us.  These  are  important  enough.  I  know  uncle  An- 
toine  ;  he  will  do  what  he  proposes  within  twenty-four 
hours,  or  not  at  all.  He  will  come  here  to-morrow  with 
his  papers  all  ready,  — drafted  by  himself;  and,  in  spite 
of  the  rudeness  of  his  style,  not  one  iota  requisite  to  make 
them  perfectly  valid  in  law  (which  he  understands  better 
than  I  do)  will  be  omitted.  It  is  by  no  means  likely  that 
you  will  be  required  to  make  a  formal  rupture  with  this 
or  that  person,  —  such  a  stipulation  would  be  strange  and 
uidvuown  to  the  law,  —  but  you  will  have  to  bind  your- 
self not  to  marry  again  without  M.  Antoine's  consent, 
and  a  clause  in  the  grant  will  make  it  revocable  in  case 
you  violate  this  condition.  It  would  be  in  vain,  there- 
fore, to  hope  to  evade  the  proposed  agreement ;  and,  in 
any  event,  your  character  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  that 
you  would  not  think  of  attempting  such  a  thing." 

*•  You  are  quite  right,  my  friend,"  said  Julie,  with  a 
sigh,  ''  I  will  never  make  a  promise  without  keeping  it." 

''  Very  well,  then,"  continued  Marcel,  "  the  project  sub- 
mitted to  us  is  unprecedented ;  but  it  has  actually  been 
formed,  it  cannot  be  evaded,  and  it  will  determine  the 
destiny  of  two  persons  most  dear  to  you,  —  Julien  and 
his  mother.  I  myself,  as  I  explained,  am  not  involved 
in  this  business.  You  are  bound  to  consider  it  most  se- 
riously. Do  you  prefer  to  think  it  over  by  yourself,  or 
may  I  say  plainly  to  you  all  that  I  would  have  said,  if 


AN  TON  I  A.  185 

you  had  made  me  your  confidant  before  the   appeArance 
of  M.  Antoine  ?  " 

"  Go  on,  Marcel ;  it  is  best  to  tell  tne  all." 
"  Let  us  suppose  then,  madam,  that  M.  Antoine,  in 
jspite  of  his  anger,  makes  you  a  better  offer  than  the  mar- 
chioness :  your  means  will  even  then  be  very  moderate ; 
you  will  have,  perhaps,  an  income  of  two  or  three  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  !  You  marry  Julieu,  who  has  nothing 
t>  depend  upon  except  his  labor;  you  will  have  chil- 
dren, and  you  will  have  Madiini  Thierry  to  support. 
You  will  be  able  to  keep  a  maid  for  her,  a  nurse  for  your- 
self, and  a  mau-of-all-work,  —  unless  Julien  himself  lays 
down  liis  brush  to  do  the  drudgery  that  is  necessary  even 
in  the  most  modest  household.  You  will  live  respectably, 
no  doubt,  for  Julien  will  work ;  Madam  Thierry  will  knit 
all  the  stockings  of  the  family,  and  you  will  be  econom- 
ical. You  can  afford  one  silk  dress,  and  will  commonly 
wear  calico.  You  will  go  about  on  foot ;  you  can't  even 
allow  yourself  a  bow  of  ribbon  without  counting  on  your 
fingers  to  see  if  you  can  afford  it.  That  is  the  way  my 
wile  began  when  I  bought  my  practice,  and  I  assure  you, 
madam,  that  we  did  not  enjoy  it  much,  although  we  were 
very  fond  of  each  other.  My  wife  was  not  a  frivolous 
woman  ;  we  had  never  been  in  easy  circumstances,  and 
were  unacquainted  with  luxury.  We  knew  very  well 
how  to  be  sparing,  but  we  were  both  of  us  troubled.  My 
wife  was  anxious  at  seeing  me  working  half  the  night, 
and  running  about  at  all  liours  and  in  all  weathers,  tired 
to  death,  and  with  a  cold  in  the  head.  I  was  anxious  at 
seeing  her  shut  up  without  fresh  air  and  good  food,  and 
harnessed,  without  intermission,  to  the  housework  and  to 
her  responsibilities  as  a  mother.  This  solicitude  for  each 
other  was  a  constant  and  wearing  burden.  I  give  you 
my  word,  that  the  more  we  loved  each  other  the  more 
tormented  we  were,  and  prevented  from  enjoying  real 
happiness.  We  lost  our  first  two  children.  One  we 
were  obliged  to  put  out  to  nurse  in  the  country,  and  it 
was  not  well  cared  for ;  the  other  we  tried  to  bring  up  at 
home,  and  it  died  in  consequence  of  the  bad  air  of  Paris, 
together  with  the  feeble  health  which  it  inherited  frc  m  its 


i86  ANTONIA. 

mother.     If  we  have  contrived  to  keep  our  third  alive,  W 
is  because,  by  economy  and  industry,  we  have  succeeded 
in  making  ourselves  a  little  more  comfortable.     At  present 
we  are  contented,  and  are  quite  well  off;  but  we  are  I'orty 
years  old,  and  we  have  suffered  a  great  deal !     Our  youth 
was  always  a  warfare,  and  often  a  martyrdom.     !Such  is 
the  life  of  a  poor  citizen  in  Paris,  madam ;  and  that  of  a 
poor  artist  is  harder  still,  because  his  profession  is  far  less 
sure  than  mine.     People  are  always  having  questions  of 
business  to  decide  that  bring  them  to  a  lawyer  ;  they  are  not 
always  in  want  of  pictures,  and  most  people  care  nothing 
about  them.     They  are  superfluities.     Julien  will  never 
amass  a  fortune,  as  his  father  did.     His  talents  and  his 
character,  perhaps,  will  be  more  highly  estimated,  but  he 
has  not  the  amiable  frivolity,  —  the  social  tastes  and  bril- 
liant manners  necessary  to  make  him  a  favorite  in  cer- 
tain circles,  which,  when  they  fall  in  love  with  an  artist, 
have  the  power  to  bring  him  forward,  and  insure  his  rep- 
utation and  success.     You  must  remember  that  my  uncle 
Andre  would  never  have  gained  the  position  he  lield,  in 
spite  of  his  genius,  if  he  had  not  been  a  capital  singer,  a 
great  wit,  and  a  good  story-teller ;  and  moreover,  if  cer- 
tain frivolous  but  influential  ladies  had  not,  at  various 
times,  tempted  him  from  his  allegiance  to  his  wife.     Ho 
adored  her,  notwithstanding  ;  but  he  used  to  say,  confiden- 
tially and  very  frankly,  that  he  must  deceive  her  a  little 
once  in  a  while,  for  his  own  advantage.     You  turn  pale  ; 
Julien  will  never  follow  that  example,  for  it  belongs  to  a 
past  age.     But  even  if  Julien  should  create  clief-d'ceuvres 
of  art,  he  will  always  be  poor.     The  world  does  not  run 
after  modest  merit,  nor  does  it  take  the  trouble  to  seek 
after  unknown  virtue.     His  marrying  you  will,  it  is  true, 
make  some  noise,  —  it  will  be  a  little  scandal  that  will  do 
something  towards  bringing  him  into  notice.     That  was 
the  case  with  his  father's  marriage,  but,  as  I  said,  the 
times  are  changed.     Nowadays  people  are  more  austere, 
—  or  more  hypocritical,  —  than  in  the  time  of  Madamvi  de 
la  Pompadour.     And  then  the  same  thing  never  succeeds 
twice  over.     People  will  say,  '  That  young  fellow  has 
been  trying  to  ape  his  father,'  and  you  will  bring  him  more 


ANT  ONI  A.  1S7 

enemies  than  protectors.  Against  you  there  will  be  a 
great  outcry.  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  old  marchioness 
will  try  to  have  you  thrown  into  a  convent,  and  Julien  into 
the  Bastile,  for  the  crime  of  mesalliance,  for  she  has  no 
authority  over  you ',  but  she  will  do  you  even  greater 
harm  by  talking  against  you,  while  you  will  not  have  a 
rigorous  persecution  to  help  make  you  interesting.  You 
are  well  known  as  a  person  of  virtuous  character,  and 
that  very  fact  will  make  the  feeling  against  you  more 
violent  and  implacable.  All  the  old  prudes  will  go  about 
saying  that  such  marriages  are  becoming  altogether  too 
common,  — that  they  must  be  put  down,  and  utterly  dis- 
countenanced. Even  the  literary  people,  —  and  some  of 
them  are  good  friends  of  Julien,  —  will  not  dare  defend 
you.  They  themselves  belong  to  good  society  nowadays  ; 
instead  of  being  persecuted,  they  are  feted  and  caressed  ; 
Paris  is  excited  yet  over  the  triumph  that  was  granted  to 
M.  de  Voltaire  after  his  long  exile.  People  laugh  at 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  for  fancying  himself  the  victim 
of  a  conspiracy ;  he  could  have  lived,  they  say,  comfort- 
ably and  respectably,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  sour  dis- 
posiiion  and  diseased  mind.  The  philosophers  take  the 
wall  of  everybody  now,  and  they  are  very  careful  no 
longer  to  attack  people's  prejudices ;  while  those  who  re- 
main of  the  great  crusade  of  free-thinkers  will  neither 
mend  their  pens  nor  open  their  mouths  for  the  sake  of 
defending  you  against  the  verdict  of  the  drawing-rooms. 
And  all  these  cowardly  insults  will  strike  Julien.  He 
will  live  in  constant  uneasiness  and  apprehension ;  he 
will  quarrel  with  all  his  friends,  and  probably  will  fight 
Bome  of  them  —  " 

•'  Enough,  enough,  Marcel,"  cried  Julie,  weeping,  "  I 
sec  plainly  how  foolish  I  have  been  :  I  have  taken  counsel 
of  a  selfish  passion,  or  rather  have  acted  without  under- 
standing social  necessities.  I  see  now  what  a  burdea 
I  should  be  to  Julien  ;  that  his  marriage  to  me  would 
expose  him  to  constant  danger,  and  fill  his  whole  life  with 
bitterness.  Ah,  Marcel,  you  have  broken  my  heart ! 
But  it  was  your  duty  to  do  so,  and  I  esteem  you  the  more 
for  your  courage.     Go  and  tell  Julien  that  I  wish  our  en- 


1 88  ANTON  I  A, 

gagement  broken.  Mon  Dieu!  How  can  I  tell  lilm 
so?" 

"  Julien  will  not  believe  you.  Eager  to  suffer  for  your 
sake,  he  will  smile  at  your  generous  magnanimity.  He 
has  courage,  and  force  of  character,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  he  adores  you.  If  you  consult  him  he  will  instantly 
cry,  '  Let  us  be  true  to  our  love  at  whatever  cost,  in  spite 
of  misery,  in  spite  of  persecution  ! '  He  will  have  no 
misgivings  about  himself;  and  his  mother,  —  who  is  as 
courageous  and  disinterested  as  he  is,  —  will  uphold  him 
in  his  determination.  But  imagine  Julien  a  year  or 
two  hence,  when  he  sees  his  mother  suffering  !  It  is  by 
unheard-of  efforts  even  now  that  he  keeps  her  from  actual 
poverty  ;  and  in  spite  of  him  and  of  herself,  —  in  spite  of 
all  their  mutual  forbearance,  — there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
she  does  suffer.  Madam  Thierry  is  an  enthusiast,  not  a 
stoic.  She  was  not  brought  up  to  any  employment,  and  all 
she  is  fitted  for  is  to  sit  comfortably  in  her  arm-chair  and 
knit  or  read.  Besides,  her  health  was  always  delicate. 
She  could  never  stand  on  her  feet  until  midnight  to  finish 
ironing  her  son's  shirts,  as  my  wife  could  do  ;  her  pretty 
hands  know  as  little  about  hard  work  as  yours.  How 
will  it  be,  then,  when  Julien  shall  have  a  wife  and  chil- 
dren? He  will  reproacli  himself  with  your  unhappiness  ; 
and  if  remorse  once  gain  admission  into  so  proud  a  heart 
as  his,  farewell  to  courage,  and  perhaps  even  to  the 
ability  to  work  in  his  profession  ! " 

"  My  dear  Marcel,  I  told  you  that  you  had  said  enough. 
Advise  me ;  direct  me.  Give  your  orders,  and  I  will 
obey.  You  think  I  ought  not  even  to  see  him  and  speak 
to  him." 

"  I  think  so,  most  certainly,  my  dear  countess.  He 
must  not  know  anything  about  what  has  just  happened ; 
he  must  receive  M.  Antoine's  gifts  without  suspecting  the 
conditions  upon  which  they  are  granted.  Otherwise,  he 
would  refuse  them." 

"  Marcel,"  said  the  countess,  rising,  and  ringing  the 
bell,  ''  I  must  leave  my  home  at  once,  and  never  return 
to  it." 

The  servant  entered. 


ANTONIA.  I  {59 

"  Send  for  a  carriage,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  Camillc  tlial 
I  want  her." 

"  I  shall  take  nothing  with  me,"  she  continued  to 
Marcel.  "  You  must  make  it  your  duty  to  pay  off  tbo 
servants,  and  to  send  after  me  such  of  my  things  as  ma/ 
be  necessary." 

"  But  where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Into  some  convent  out  of  Paris.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence, as  long  as  you  alone  know  where  I  am." 

Camille  made  her  appearance.  Julie  put  on  her  mantle, 
and  when  she  had  left  the  room  continued : 

"  It  must  be,  my  friend.  Madam  Thierry  will  be 
anxious  to  know  what  has  happened,  and  will  come  to 
inquire  ;  if  I  stay  a  single  moment  longer,  I  may  see  her. 
And  even  if  I  could  deceive  her,  in  the  evening,  —  ah  ! 
in  the  evening  Julien  will  wait  for  me  in  the  garden  ; 
and  when  he  sees  that  I  do  not  join  him,  he  cannot  help 
coming  to  rap  at  my  window.  I  could  never  have  tlio 
strength  to  leave  him  in  mortal  anxiety,  and  I  could  not 
utter  an  untruth  to  him.  No,  no,  —  let  us  go  away.  There 
is  the  carriage  in  the  court-yard.  Come,  let  me  not  lose 
wliat  little  courage  I  have." 

Marcel  felt  that  she  was  right,  and  offered  her  his 
arm. 

^'  Come,  madam,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  God  who  inspires 
you,  and  He  will  support  you  !  " 

They  drove  off,  pretty  much  at  random  ;  the  countess 
gave  the  coachman  the  address,  first  of  one  convent  and 
then  of  another,  without  really  knowing  where  she 
wished  to  go.  Marcel  at  last  bethought  him  of  a  cousin 
of  his  family  who  was  at  the  Ursulines,  at  Chaillot,  and 
suggested  that  institution.  They  went  there,  and  he 
himself  arranged  for  her  accommodation  ;  paying  for  a 
week's  board  and  lodging  in  advance,  with  an  under- 
standing that  the  lady,  if  satisfied,  was  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  remaining  longer.  Julie  assumed  the  name  of 
Madam  d'Erlange.  Marcel  charged  his  cousin  to  vouch 
for  her,  and  see  that  she  was  properly  cared  for,  but  did 
not  admit  her  into  their  confidence.  As  Julie  entered  the 
convent  merely  as  a  boarder,  she  had  the  privilege  of 


190  ANT  ON  I  A. 

seeing  Marcel  in  her  room,  where  she  gave  him  her  final 
instructions. 

"  In  any  event,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  accept  any  favors 
from  M.  Antoine ;  they  would  be  odious  to  me,  and  1  no 
longer  need  his  assistance.  Since  he  is  my  only  creditor, 
let  him  sell  all  my  property,  and  pay  himself  in  full.  I 
will  retain  nothing,  except  my  twelve  hundred  francs  a 
year ;  and  as  I  intend  to  live  alone,  that  will  be  quite 
enough.  Do  not  let  him  reserve  my  furniture  for  me,  or 
send  me  my  diamonds,  —  I  will  not  accept  them.  He  may 
draw  up  the  engagement  himself,  stating  that  I  will  never 
marry.  I  will  sign  it,  in  return  for  the  conveyance 
which  he  is  to  execute  to  Madam  Thierry  of  the  house  at 
Sevres,  and  of  an  income  whose  amount  you  shall  act  for 
me  in  adjusting.  You  are  also  to  stipulate  that  neither 
Madam  Thierry  nor  her  son  are  to  be  informed  of  any 
of  the  facts  about  me.  You  can  tell  them  that  I  am 
gone,  that  I  cannot  see  them,  that  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so, 
because —  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  what  can  you  tell  them?  I 
do  not  know.  Tell  them  whatever  you  choose,  but  let  it  be 
irrevocable,  without  being  cruel ;  do  not  torment  them  with 
false  hopes,  for  they  are  weakening,  and  it  is  agonizing  to 
wake  from  them.  Tell  them  —  tell  them  nothing  —  Ah  ! 
I  can  neither  think  nor  wish  any  longer  —  my  strength  is 
all  gone !  " 

''  I  will  consider  what  to  say,"  said  Marcel ;  "I  will 
think  it  over  as  I  return.  I  leave  you  in  despair,  and 
yet  I  must  go.  My  duty  for  the  present  is  to  get  you 
settled  here,  to  keep  Julien  from  being  frightened  out  of 
his  senses  at  your  disappearance,  and  to  reassure  your 
servants,  who  will  be  waiting  for  you,  and  who,  when 
they  see  that  you  do  not  return,  may  make  inconvenient 
inquiries  or  observations.  Come,  madam,  be  heroic ! 
Be  calm  ;  I  will  return  this  evening,  —  sooner  if  possible, 
—  and  will  try  and  bring  you  some  comfortable  news  from 
the  pavilion.  I  must  deceive  Julien  in  some  way,  but 
how,  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you  do.  Good-by ; 
wait  for  me  ;  don't  write  to  anybody.  It  would  not  do 
for  us  to  be  contradicting  each  other.     You  will  weep 


ANTONIA,  191 

bitterly.     I  have  pained  you  terribly,  my  poor  friend, 
and  now  I  must  leave  you  alone.     It  is  frightful ! " 

As  he  spoke,  Marcel  wept  without  knowing  it.  Touched 
by  this  evidence  of  his  grief  and  devotion,  Julie  assumed 
an  appearance  of  fortitude  that  she  did  not  possess,  and 
urged  him  to  depart.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  gone,  she 
locked  herself  up,  threw  herself  upon  her  poor  little  bcd^ 
hid  her  face,  and  weeping,  sobbing,  wringing  her  hands, 
abandoned  herself  to  her  grief,  until  she  lost  all  conscious- 
ness of  where  she  was,  and  of  the  events  that  had  so 
suddenly  torn  her  from  her  home  and  former  associa- 
tions. 

Marcel,  when  he  reentered  the  coach,  wiped  his  eyes, 
reproached  himself  for  his  weakness,  and  tried  to  reason 
himself  out  of  it. 

"  What  we  resolve,"  he  said,  "  we  must  have  courage 
to  perform." 

lie  had  one  last  hope  that  he  had  not  mentioned  to 
Julie,  —  that  of  changing  M.  Antoine's  resolution.  To 
him,  therefore,  he  went  first  of  all,  but  his  sensible  ar- 
guments and  heartfelt  eloquence  fell  alike  upon  a  deaf 
ear.  The  selfish  old  man  was  happy  and  triumphant. 
He  was  draining  his  sweet  draught  of  vengeance,  enjoy- 
ing it,  and  did  not  mean  to  leave  a  drop  at  the  bottom  of 
the  goblet.  They  both  gave  vent  to  stormy  reproaches 
and  invectives,  but  Marcel  could  not  change  his  resolu- 
tion ;  he  consented  at  last,  —  and  this  was  the  only  con- 
cession he  wo.dd  agree  to,  —  that  Julien  and  his  mother 
should  remain  ignorant  of  the  cruel  bargain  that  was  to 
purchase  their  prosperity. 

"  You  will  find  it  difficult,  as  it  is,  to  carry  out  your 
scheme,"  said  Marcel ;  '*  take  care,  or  you  will  make  it 
impossible.  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  the  only  one  Avho  has 
consented  to  it  as  yet.  Julien  would  have  refused.  You 
must  deceive  him,  or  else  you  will  gain  no  advantage 
from  Julie's  submission." 

^'  I'm  tired  to  death  of  your  Julie  !"  cried  M.  Antoine. 
"Much  she  has  to  comphiin  of;  a  woman  to  whom  I 
am  giving  everything,  —  fortune,  position,  and  liberty  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  liberty  to  die  of  sorrow  1 " 


192 


ANTONIA. 


'*  Nonsense !  Do  people  die  of  love  ?  That  is  fine 
talk  for  a  lawyer !  Let  her  many  to  suit  herself  in 
her  own  rank  of  life  ;  I  will  make  no  opposition,  —  slie 
may  select  whom  she  pleases.  I  object  to  no  one,  except 
tlie  dauber.  Before  a  fortnight  has  passed,  she  will  have 
opened  her  eyes,  and  will  thank  me.  She  will  acknowl- 
edge my  greatness  of  soul,  and  will  call  me  her  benefac- 
tor. The  fact  is,  that  you  are  all  crazy  together.  I  take 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  francs  out  of  my  pocket,  and 
fling  them  about  to  a  lot  of  ungrateful  fools,  and  they  turn 
around  and  call  me  a  bad  relative,  a  hard-hearted  fellow, 
an  old  dog,  an  old  miser,  and  I  don't  know  what  besides. 
Upon  my  word  of  honor,  the  whole  world  seems  to  be 
crazy,  at  present." 

''  Nobody  has  called  you  those  names,  uncle ;  no- 
body has  called  you  any  names  at  all.  There  is  no  name 
that  would  describe  your  extraordinary  character ;  and 
no  other  man  in  the  world  has  found  out  the  secret  of 
making  people  curse  the  hand  that  enriches  them." 

"  Come,  you  are  making  a  speech ;  you  imagine  you 
are  in  court.  Go  along,  you  bore  me  !  Tell  your  Julien 
whatever  you  please.  I  don't  want  to  see  either  him,  or 
you,  or  anybody.     I  am  going  back  into  the  country." 

^^  That  means  that  you  are  going  to  shut  yourself  up 
here,  and  barricade  yourself  against  all  the  good  reasons 
that  I  could  give  you." 

"  Possibly.  Now  you  know  what  a  fine  time  your 
good  reasons  will  have  waiting  outside  the  door." 

Marcel  took  good  care  not  to  tell  his  uncle  that  there 
was  a  far  simpler  and  cheaper  way  than  the  one  he  had 
adopted  of  preventing  the  marriage  to  Avhich  he  was  so 
violently  opposed :  that,  namely,  of  allowing  Madam 
d'Estrelle  to  lose  her  fortune,  and  trusting  to  the  influ- 
ence of  her  own  prudent  and  generous  reflections.  Nor 
did  he  consider  it  his  duty  to  tell  him  that  she  had  refused 
his  gift. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought  to  himself,  ''  who  knows  how 
long  tliis  passion  will  last.?  Julie  may,  perhaps,  recover 
from  it  alter  a  time  ;  and,  in  that  event,  she  will  not  bo 
displeased  to  find  herself  at  liberty,  and  wealthy." 


ANTONIA. 


193 


He  drew  up,  along  with  M.  Antoine,  a  simple  condi- 
tional release  of  all  Madam  d'Estrelle's  debts,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  having  this  important  modilication  inserted  in 
the  document,  that,  except  with  a  person  not  hearing  a 
title,  Madam  d'Estrelle  was  free  to  contract  a  second  mar- 
riage with  any  one  she  chose.  After  M.  Antoine  had 
signed  this  paper.  Marcel  put  it  into  his  pocket,  quietly 
resolving  that  he  would  not  submit  it  to  the  countess, 
until  she  should  be  more  calm. 

The  conveyance  of  the  house  at  Sevres  to  Julien  and 
his  mother,  together  with  an  income  of  five  thousand 
francs,  was  in  readiness.  Marcel  had  a  terrible  struggle 
to  prevent  Antoine  from  inserting  a  restriction  in  this 
paper,  similar  to  the  one  by  which  Julie  was  bound.  lie 
remonstrated  that  as  she  had  promised  not  to  marry 
Julien,  it  was  entirely  useless  to  make  him  promise  not 
to  marry  her, 

'^  But  your  Julie  may  take  it  into  her  head  to  renounce 
her  fortune,*'  said  M.  Antoine  ;  "  and  then,  if  the  other 
has  enough  to  live  upon,  I  shall  have  accomplished  a 
pretty  piece  of  work !  I  shall  have  married  them  !  By 
no  means !  I  must  have  a  letter  from  that  lady,  in 
which  she  promises,  solemnly  and  religiously,  never  in  all 
her  life  to  see  that  personage  again.  It  must  all  be 
stated  in  so  many  words.  Women  think  there's  a  great 
deal  more  in  their  little  gilt-edged  notes,  than  in  all  your 
parchments.  They  are  a  gi-eat  deal  more  afraid  of  scan- 
dal than  of  the  law.  Yes,  I  must  have  that  little  love-letter 
sent  to  my  address,  or  I  will  do  nothing." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  said  Marcel. 

lie  left,  and  hastened  to  the  pavilion. 

Julien  had  not  ventured  to  seek  any  information  at  the 
hotel,  and  he  was  very  much  agitated.  His  mother  had 
gone  to  reconnoitre,  and  had  reported  that  the  house  was 
entirely  closed  on  the  side  of  the  garden.  He  did  not 
know  whether  the  dowager  was  still  thens ;  he  knew 
nothing  of  M.  Antoine's  visit,  or  of  Julie's  departure. 
After  confiding  in  Madam  Thierry  so  fully,  he  was  aston- 
ished that  she  could  not  find  time  to  send  her  a  few  lines, 
in  order  to  set  her  at  ease  about  the  consequeoces  of  the 
13 


194 


ANTONIA. 


dowager's  scandalous  proceedings.  He  was  anxiously 
waiting  for  the  evening,  and  dark  suspicions  were  begin- 
ning to  creep  into  his  mind. 

"Who  knows,"  he  thought,  "  whether  the  dowager  and 
M.  Antoine  have  not  joined  in  a  conspiracy  to  have  Julie 
carried  off  and  confined  in  a  convent,  on  a  charge  of  mis- 
demeanor }  " 

It  was  no  longer  easy  to  obtain  lettres  de  cachet ;  but, 
by  means  of  certain  formalities,  an  ex-post  facto  judgment 
could  be  procured,  and  an  unlawful  imprisonment  legal- 
ized. This  would  have  been  quite  practicable  in  the  present 
case,  since  a  love  affair  with  a  plebeian  was  still  con- 
sidered among  the  ruling  classes  a  scandal  such  as  a 
family  of  rank  might  rightfully  punish. 

By  the  time  Marcel  arrived,  tfulien  was  almost  out  of 
his  senses.  Madam  Thierry  looked  troubled  and  de- 
jected. Marcel  saw  that  this  was  not  the  moment  to 
speak  plainly. 

"There  is  news,"  he  began,  assuming  a  calm,  and  even 
satisfied  expression.  "  We  were  just  about  to  sigu,  when 
uncle  Antoine  appeared  amongst  us,  like  a  god  out  of  tlie 
clouds  at  the  opera.  He  got  angry,  and  had  a  quarrel 
with  the  dowager,  who  up  to  that  moment  had  had  some 
understanding  with  him  against  the  interests  of  Madam 
d'Estrelle.  This  showed  him  his  mistake.  He  has  re- 
pented of  all  his  foolishness,  and  offers  you  a  splendid 
indemnity ;  indeed  he  is  going  to  seize  this  occasion  to 
make  up  for  all  his  shortcomings,  and  I  must  say  that 
he  is  acting  with  great  disinterestedness.  I  hope  you 
will  feel  kindly  towards  him,  not  only  on  account  of  his 
offer  to  you,  but  for  his  handsome  proposition  to  Madam 
d'Estrelle.  He  will  pay  her  probably  double  the  amount 
offered  by  the  dowager.  He  behaved  so  well,  indeed, 
that  she  considered  it  her  duty  to  thank  him,  and  to 
leave  the  hotel  at  once,  in  compliance  with  his  wish.** 

"  She  is  gone?'*  cried  Julien,  turning  pale. 

"  Certainly  !  She  has  gone  to  stay  a  few  days  in  the 
country.     What  is  there  surprising  in  that  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Marcel,"  said  Madam  Thierry,  "  you  evidently 
do  not  know  — '* 


ANTONIA. 


'95 


'*  I  do  not  desire  to  know  anything  outside  of  the  very 
important  concerns  that  require  all  my  attention,"  re- 
plied Marcel,  with  decision.  ''  I  have  listened  to-day  to 
a  great  many  foolish  remarks,  to  a  great  many  injurious 
and  impertinent  insinuations  ;  but  I  do  not  intend  either 
to  believe  or  to  remember  any  of  them.  The  name  of 
Madam  d'Estrelle  is  a  sacred  one  to  me ;  but  I  have 
advised  her  to  keep  out  of  sight  for  a  few  days." 

"  Keep  out  of  sight  ?  "  repeated  Julien,  whose  appre- 
hensions still  continued. 

"  Farbleu  I  One  would  suppose  that  we  were  in 
Madrid,  and  that  somebody  had  been  buried  alive  in 
the  convent  cellar.  Why  are  you  so  tragic  about  it? 
I  have  only  persuaded  her  to  be  dead,  so  to  speak,  for 
a  week  or  two,  until  I  can  ascertain  the  state  of  her 
affairs,  and  adjust  them.  Let  us  be  entirely  quiet,  and 
show  neither  dissatisfaction  nor  uneasiness  about  her 
absence.  Why  should  we  revive  the  evil  designs  of  the 
marchioness,  just  as  M.  Antoine  has  succeeded,  for  the 
moment,  in  baffling  them?  Above  all,  we  must  be  care- 
ful not  to  act  in  such  a  way  as  to  deprive  Julie  of  the 
protection  and  regard  of  our  rich  old  friend.  There  is 
no  need  of  undertaking  to  explain  that  gentleman's  sin- 
gular mode  of  reasoning,  for  the  devil  himself  could  not 
do  it.  We  can,  however,  take  advantage  of  his  pecu- 
liarities ;  and  no  one  here  ought  to  think  about  himself. 
The  point  is,  to  consider  the  good  of  Madam  d'Estrelle." 

Marcel  now  went  into  details,  and  referred  to  figures 
which  compelled  Julien's  attention.  He  showed  that  Julie, 
by  acting  with  prudence,  could  secure  a  modest  compe- 
tence, and  that,  by  displaying  too  much  pride,  she  would 
lose  it.  So  far,  the  plot  formed  against  her  by  M.  Antoine 
and  the  marchioness  had  come  to  nothing ;  they  had  been 
waiting  until  she  should  provoke  its  explosion  by  trying 
to  resist  the  dowager's  claim.  It  was  M.  Antoiue's  duty 
to  protect  Julie  against  the  accusations  which  he  him- 
self had  originated ;  and  he  was  the  only  person  who 
could  do  this,  since  his  wealth  provided  him  with  suflicient 
resources  against  the  common  enemy.  He  sliowed  a 
disposition  to  do  what  was  right,  he  was  repentant,  after 


196  ANT  ON r A. 

his  fashion  •  he  had  come  to  hate  the  marchioness,  and 
all  that  he  asked  was  to  be  allowed  to  manage  the  whole 
matter  himself.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  acqui- 
esce, and  to  wait  silently  upon  his  movements. 

Julien  v/as  not  altogether  satisfied  with  this  explana- 
tion ;  one  thing  still  troubled  him.  Was  not  M.  An- 
toine  trying  to  influence  Madam  d'Estrelle's  plans,  and  to 
get  the  control  of  her  property,  with  the  extravagant 
idea  of  entrapping  her  into  a  marriage  with  himself? 
Marcel  reassured  him  entirely  upon  this  point ;  he  gave 
him  his  word  of  honor  that  the  old  sphinx  had  altogether 
abandoned  this  project.  Lastly,  Julien  asked  Marcel 
whether  he  could  also  give  him  his  word  that  he  had 
advised  Julie  to  depart  thus  suddenly  ;  whether  she  was 
able  to  come  back  whenever  she  should  see  fit ;  and  if 
she  was  perfectly  convinced  that  her  absence  would  be 
advantageous  to  herself,  and  to  herself  exclusively. 

Marcel  could  conscientiously  reply  that  all  this  was 
<^o. 

•'  You  know,  of  course,  where  she  is,"  continued 
Julien. 

''I  do,"  replied  Marcel;  "but  I  cannot  tell,  for  she 
made  me  promise  not  to.  If  she  chooses  to  inform  any 
one  else,  she  will  write  ;  but  as  she  desires  to  keep  M. 
Antoine  and  the  dowager  entirely  ignorant  of  her  where- 
ahouts  my  opinion  is  that  she  had  better  have  no  con- 
fidant except  me.  And  now  that  I  have  explained 
everything,  let  me  tell  you  what  compensation  M.  Antoine 
proposes  to  give  you  for  resigning  your  lease." 

"  Wait  one  moment,"  said  Julien  ;  "was  this  compen- 
sation insisted  on  by  Madam  d'Estrelle  ?  Is  it  not  the 
price  of  some  additional  torment  inflicted  upon  her  high 
spirit,  or  of  some  sacrifice  on  her  part?" 

"  There  was  no  discussion  whatever  about  it,"  said 
Marcel;  "M.  Antoine  stated  his  intentions  himself, 
without  waiting  for  any  one  to  make  any  demands,  or  to 
propose  any  conditions.  It  is  probable  that  he  has  in- 
tended for  a  long  time  to  endow  you  with  this  property, 
for  he  owns  the  house  at  Sevres,  and  he  gives  it  to  you. 
Here  are  the  deeds." 


ANTON  I  A. 


197 


"  Ah,  mon  Dieul**  cried  Madam  Thierry,  looking  at 
the  papers,  "  aud  an  income  too  !  It  seems  like  a  dream, 
—  I  am  both  rejoiced  and  alarmed  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Julien,  who  was  still  suspicious,  "  there  is 
something  back  of  all  this  ;  some  trap,  perhaps." 

Marcel  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  making  them 
accept  the  perfidious  gift  of  M.  Antoine  ;  and  had  to  say, 
and  even  to  give  his  oath  to  it,  that  such  was  the  express 
desire  of  Madam  d'Estrelle.  Before  he  left  them,  how- 
ever, they  had  become  quite  composed.  Julien  was  still 
anxious,  but  he  concealed  his  apprehensions,  so  as  not  to 
disturb  his  mother's  joy  at  the  idea  of  returning  to  the 
home  where  she  had  lived  so  long  and  so  happily.  Mar- 
cel now  hurried  to  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  and  directed 
Camille  to  pack  up  whatever  her  mistress  would  need  for 
a  short  stay  in  the  country. 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  I "  exclaimed  Camille,  in  surprise ; 
"  aud  did  not  the  countess  send  for  me  to  come  and  join 
her?" 

"  It  is  unnecessary,  for  so  short  a  time.'* 

"  But  madame  does  not  know  how  to  put  up  her  hair, 
nor  how  to  dress  herself!  Why,  think  of  it !  A  person 
who  has  always  been  waited  upon  according  to  her 
rank." 

"  She  will  find  servants  enough  in  the  house  where 
she  is  staying." 

"  They  must  be  poor  people,  at  all  events,  if  madame 
thinks  they  can't  afford  to  keep  her  servants  for  her. 
Perhaps  she  is  quite  ruined  herself.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  ! 
Such  a  kind  and  generous  mistress," 

Camille  began  to  cry,  and  her  grief  was  perfectly  sin- 
cere ;  but  she  added,  notwithstanding,  — 

"  And  my  wages,  Mr.  Attorney  ;  who  will  pay  me?  " 

"  I  will  pay  everything  to-morrow,"  said  Marcel,  who 
had  often  witnessed  similar  demonstrations  of  sensibility 
mingled  with  prudential  considerations,  — a  state  of  mind 
that  is  naturally  developed  by  sudden  disasters,  *'  Have 
all  the  accounts  of  the  household  made  out,  and  df  you 
take  the  keys  until  then.  Be  responsible  for  everything 
until  to-morrow." 


198  ANTON  I  A, 

"  Very  well,  monsieur,  I  will,"  answered  the  lady's 
maid,  beginning  to  sob  again ;  "  but  are  we  to  leave 
madam's  employment?  Is  she  not  coming  back  at 
all?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that,  and  I  have  received  no  orders  to 
dismiss  you." 

Marcel  sent  word  to  his  wife  that  he  would  have  no 
time  to  return  either  to  dinner  or  supper,  and  that  she 
need  not  expect  him  until  ten  or  eleven  at  night.  Then 
he  went  back  to  the  convent.  Julie,  after  pouring  out 
all  her  life  in  tears,  had  risen,  and  bathed  her  face  in 
water ;  but  it  was  pale  and  cold  as  marble.  She  was 
very  quiet  and  depressed  in  manner,  and  seemed  like  a 
dead  person  moving  about.  She  revived  a  little  on  learn- 
ing that  Marcel  had  succeeded  in  misleading  Julien,  and 
in  quieting  his  suspicions  sufficiently  to  induce  him  to 
accept  the  means  of  living  that  M.  Antoine  had  conveyed 
to  his  mother  and  himself.  At  Marcel's  request,  and 
under  his  dictation,  she  wrote  a  note  to  M.  Antoine,  en- 
gaging never  to  see  Julien  again  as  long  as  she  lived,  on 
condition  that  the  house  at  Sevres,  and  the  annuity, 
should  never  be  taken  from  him.  She  would  not  make 
any  similar  condition  about  her  own  property,  and  Mar- 
cel did  not  yet  venture  to  speak  to  her  about  accepting 
M.  Antoine's  release  from  her  debts.  For  the  rest,  she 
made  no  complaint,  but  looked  worn  out  with  fatigue ; 
and  when  he  took  her  hand,  Marcel  perceived  that  she 
was  feverish.  He  persuaded  her  to  see  his  cousin,  sister 
Sainte-Juste,  and  arranged  with  the  latter  to  have  some- 
one sleep  in  the  next  room  ;  nor  did  he  leave  until,  in  the 
most  fatherly  manner,  he  had  make  every  arrangement 
for  her  comfort. 

Julie  had  a  quiet  night;  she  was  not  one  of  those 
strong  natures  that  can  maintain  a  long  struggle.  Her 
conscience  told  her  that  she  had  done  her  duty,  and  her 
first  passionate  outburst  of  sorrow  had  been  so  sudden  and 
violent,  that  she  very  soon  yielded  to  exhaustion,  and  fell 
asleep.  The  next  morning,  after  thanking  the  person  who 
had  watched  near  her,  she  stated  that  she  wished  to  be 
alone,  and  sent  her  away.     She  made  her  own  toilette, 


ANTONIA. 


199 


and  finding  that  she  was  a  little  awkward  in  performing 
this  unaccustomed  task,  she  resolved  to  form  new  habits, 
and  went  to  work  at  once  to  clear  up  her  room,  make  her 
bed,  put  her  things  in  order,  and  establish  herself  in  this 
poor  little  cell,  as  if  she  had  expected  to  spend  all  her  life 
there.  All  this  she  did  almost  mechanically,  and  without 
either  effort  or  reflection. 

When  everything  was  arranged,  she  sat  down  in  a 
chair,  with  her  hands  clasped  on  her  lap,  and  remained 
for  a  long  time  looking  out  of  the  open  window,  without 
seeing  anything,  listening  to  the  convent  bells  without 
paying  any  attention  to  them,  and  not  even  remembering 
to  eat,  although  she  had  not  taken  anything  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  A  clap  of  thunder,  exploding  in  the  very 
room,  would  not  have  made  her  tremble. 

Towards  noon,  sister  Sainte-Juste  came  in,  and  found 
her  absorbed  in  a  melancholy  reverie,  which  she  mistook 
for  a  state  of  beatitude.  Some  natures,  when  crushed  by 
affliction,  are  so  sweet  and  gentle,  that  their  actual  suffer- 
ing is  unsuspected.  The  sister,  however,  in  passing 
through  the  little  room  that  served  as  Julie's  ante-cham- 
ber and  dining-room,  noticed  that  the  breakfast  which  tJie 
servant  had  brought  had  grown  cold,  without  bemg 
touched. 

"  But  you  have  forgotten  to  eat  anything,"  she  said  to 
Julie. 

"  No,  my  sister,"  replied  the  poor  desolate  creature, 
unwilling  to  complain  ;  "  I  was  waiting  until  my  appetite 
should  return." 

The  nun  persuaded  her  to  sit  down  at  the  table,  waited 
upon  her  very  kindly,  and  tried  to  divert  her  with  her  own 
simple  and  insignificant  gossip.  Julie  listened  with  inex- 
haustible patience,  and  even  exerted  herself  to  show  an  in- 
terest in  all  the  minutiae  of  the  recluse's  life,  in  the  details  of 
the  establishment,  in  all  the  stupid  little  events  with  which 
nuns  in  such  a  community  occupy  their  leisure.  What 
difference  did  it  make  whether  she  listened  to  that  or  t4 
something  else  ?  Nobody  could  annoy  or  fatigue  her  any 
more.  Her  soul  seemed  perfectly  void,  and  was  incapable 
of  receiving  a  new  impression. 


200  ANTON  I  A, 

TV  hen  Marcel  came  again  in  the  afternoon,  his  cousin 
said  to  him,  — 

•"*■  What  made  you  tell  me  that  this  lady  was  ill,  and  in 
trouble  ?  She  slept  well,  and  without  a  sound  ;  she  break- 
fasted reasonably  well,  although  rather  late,  and  she 
showed  great  interest  in  conversing  with  me.  She  is  very 
amiable,  and  is  not  seriously  unhappy.  I  will  answer  for 
that  —  I  know  about  such  matters  !  " 

Marcel  was  alarmed  at  this  patient  sorrow  incapable  of 
reaction.  He  had  come  to  tell  her  what  had  happened 
that  morning  at  the  hotel  d'Estrelle  ;  but  she  made  no  in- 
quiries, excepting  about  Julien  and  his  mother.  On 
learning  that  they  had  moved,  and  would  sleep  that  night 
at  Sevres,  she  was  satisfied,  and  refused  to  hear  anything 
more. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  hate  anybody,"  she  said  ;• "  such  a  feel- 
ing would  only  injure  me,  and  would  do  no  good.  Do  not, 
therefore,  say  anything  more  to  me  about  M.  Antoine  for 
several  days.  I  beseech  you,  my  friend,  let  me  reconcile 
myself  to  my  lot  as  I  best  can.  You  see  that  I  do  not 
rebel  against  it.     That  is  as  much  as  is  necessary." 

As  time  went  on,  she  became  more  and  more  quiet. 
She  was  extremely  pale ;  but  the  nun  assured  Marcel, 
and  with  truth,  that  she  ate  and  slept  sufficiently.  She 
did  nothing  all  day,  and  disliked  to  see  any  one,  but  con- 
stantly affirmed,  —  and  truly  again,  —  that  she  did  not 
sulfer  from  ennui.  Absorbed  in  thought,  she  was  patient 
and  serene.  Marcel  could  not  understand  anything  about 
such  a  case.  He  persuaded  her  to  see  the  physician  of 
the  convent,  and  he  reported  that  her  pulse  was  a  little 
feeble,  and  her  complexion  a  little  phlegmatic  —  an  ex- 
pression used  at  that  time  to  denote  a  predominance  of 
lymph  in  the  system.  He  prescribed  quinine,  and  told 
Marcel  that  nothing  serious  was  the  matter. 

In  fact,  nothing  was  the  matter,  except  that  her  soul 
was  quietly  sinking,  and  her  life  fading  away.  She  obe- 
diently took  the  quinine,  took  walks  in  the  convent-garden, 
consented  to  receive  visits  from  some  of  the  nuns,  who 
thought  her  a  very  nice  person,  promised  to  read  some 
new  books  that  Marcel  brought  her,  but  which  she  did  not 


ANTONIA.  20I 

open,  and  laid  out  a  piece  of  embroidery  which  she  did 
not  begin.  So  extremely  quiet  were  her  ways,  that  she 
lived  ahnost  invisible  in  the  convent,  and  continued 
to  fade  away,  slowly,  without  a  crisis  of  any  kind,  but 
steadily. 

Marcel  was  deceived  by  her  apparent  tranquiUity. 
Mistaking  the  sudden  destruction  of  her  will  for  an  im- 
mense force  of  will  exerted  in  the  struggle  to  conquer  her 
love,  he  tried  to  cure  her  with  mistaken  remedies,  lie 
occupied  himself  in  endeavoring  to  restore  her  physical 
health.  Telling  JuUe  that  he  had  purchased  a  little 
country-house  at  Nanterre,  which,  in  fact,  was  only  rented, 
he  persuaded  her  to  move  there  ;  and,  satisfied  as  to  Ca- 
milJe's  discretion  and  devotion,  sent  her  there  too.  He 
furnished  Camille  with  money  enough  to  hire  a  good  cook, 
and  made  arrangements  to  supply  the  table  of  the  countess 
with  more  delicate  and  nourishing  food  than  she  had  had 
in  the  convent.  The  cottage  was  in  a  healthy  situation, 
the  air  was  good,  and  it  had  quite  a  large  garden,  walled, 
and  not  too  much  shaded  to  prevent  the  sun  from  warm- 
ing it  thoroughly.  Books,  work,  innocent  games,  and 
JuUe's  harp  (in  those  days  every  lady  played  more  or  less 
upon  this  graceful  instrument,  and  Marcel  did  not  forget 
to  send  hers  to  her  new  retreat)  gave  the  drawing-room 
a  cheerful  aspect.  Camille,  whom  the  lawyer  had  in- 
structed, kept  her  mistress  in  ignorance  about  what  had 
happened  at  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  and  of  the  condition  of 
her  own  property.  She  made  her  believe  that  ever^'thing 
was  extremely  cheap  at  Nanterre,  and  that  she  might 
therefore  indulge  herself  in  comforts,  to  a  certain  extent, 
without  exceeding  the  amount  of  her  little  revenue.  Julie 
chose  to  be  poor,  rather  than  to  receive  any  favors  from 
M.  Antoine.  On  this  point,  only.  Marcel  had  found  her 
opposition  invincible.  He  had  had  to  tell  her  a  down- 
right falsehood,  and  to  make  her  believe  that  M.  Antoine 
had  taken  possession  of  her  hotel,  her  diamonds,  and  all 
that  she  owned. 

The  diamonds,  in  reality,  were  safe  in  Marcel's  hands ; 
the  hotel  was  kept  in  good  repair ;  the  horses  were  in  tho 
stable,  well  groomed  and  fed,  and  the  carriages  in  the 


202  ANTONIA. 

coach-house.  The  servants  had  been  paid  off  and  dis« 
charged,  but  with  an  understanding  that  for  a  certain 
agreed  term  they  should  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to 
return  at  any  time  when  Madam  d'Estrelle  herself  should 
come  back.  The  porter  had  charge  of  the  house,  and 
tended  and  exercised"  the  horses  ;  his  wife  dusted,  aired, 
and  closed  the  rooms.  M.  Antoine's  head  gardener  had 
charge  of  the  flowers  and  the  turf,  and  M.  Antoine  him- 
self made  the  rounds  of  the  place  every  morning.  The 
pavilion,  deserted  by  Madam  Thierry,  was  shut  up  and 
silent.  Otherwise,  nothing  was  changed  since  Julie's  de- 
parture. All  the  furniture  was  in  its  place,  and  the  sun 
shone  on  the  deserted  threshold. 

Two  months  thus  passed  away.  Uncle  Antoine  acted 
only  as  the  guardian  and  business  superintendent  of  the 
hotel.  He  proposed  to  retain  this  office  about  the  place 
until  such  time  as  it  should  please  Julie  to  resume  the 
management  of  her  property,  when  he  meant  to  deliver  it 
up  to  her  unchanged,  and  even  to  see  that  any  of  her 
household  whom  she  wished  to  recall  should  be  ready  to 
serve  her.  The  porter  had  orders  to  inform  visitors  that 
his  mistress  still  retained  the  ownership  of  the  property 
temporarily,  and  had  gone  to  inspect  her  estates  in  Beau- 
voisis,  with  a  view  to  adjust  some  final  arrangements. 
In  other  words.  Marcel  and  M.  Antoine,  for  the  sake 
of  appearances,  had  agreed  to  represent  the  situation  of 
Madam  d'Estrelle,  as  the  coutinuation  of  a  truce  arranged 
with  her  creditors.  This  state  of  things  had  already  ex- 
isted for  two  years,  and  it  was  therefore  the  best  explana- 
tion that  could  be  given  of  her  present  position.  It 
vTDuld  be  easy  enough  to  find  some  final  statement,  when 
ever  the  countess  should  return. 

Nevertheless,  Julie's  friends,  the  old  Duke  de  Qiiesnoy, 
the  president's  wife,  Madame  des  Merges,  the  abbe  de 
Nivieres,  etc.,  began  to  feel  greatly  surprised  at  not  hear- 
ing from  her.  Her  sudden  departure,  —  thanks  to  the 
reports  adroitly  circulated  by  the  lawyer,  —  had  been 
satisfactorily  accounted  for  ;  but  why  did  she  not  write  ? 
She  must  be  very  lazy  ;  or,  perhaps,  she  was  ill.  Was 
she  really  in  Boauvoisis?     They  asked  these  questiona 


ANTONIA. 


203 


amoDg  themselves,  but  the  old  Duke  do  Quesnoy  had  to 
go  to  the  waters  of  Vichy ;  the  president's  wife  was  ab- 
sorbed in  attending  to  her  daughter's  .uarriage  ;  the  abbo 
was  a  good  deal  like  a  cat,  which  forgets  all  about  a 
house  when  the  fire  goes  out  on  its  hearth,  and  Madam 
des  Morges  was  indolence  personified.  The  Marchioness 
d'Estrelle  was  the  only  person  who  would  have  made 
serious  inquiries,  and  her  malice  was  paralyzed  by  M. 
Antoine,  who  threatened  sharply  to  publish  an  account 
of  her  conduct,  and  reclaim  his  money,  if  she  entered  into 
any  investigation,  or  ventured  to  make  any  unkind  re- 
mark about  Julie. 

In  all  that  related  to  the  reputation,  the  safety,  and  the 
pecuniary  interests  of  his  victim,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
therefore,  that  M.  Antoine  acted  with  remarkable  good 
faith,  prudence,  and  devotion.  He  took  counsel  with 
Marcel,  discussed  various  plans,  as  if  he  were  seeking  to 
promote  the  welfare  of  his  own  daughter,  and  followed 
his  advice  with  perfect  exactitude.  J3ut  upon  the  main 
question  of  all,  —  the  union  of  the  two  lovers,  —  he  was 
inflexible  ;  Marcel  tried,  in  vain,  to  soften  him.  When 
pressed  too  hard  about  it,  he  got  angry,  sulked,  and  shut 
the  door  in  the  lawyer's  face  ;  so  that,  upon  this  point. 
Marcel  saw  nothing  in  the  future  but  indefinite  delays. 

Meanwhile,  Madam  Thierry  and  Julien  were  luxuri- 
ously  established  in  their  pretty  little  house,  where  they 
had  found  intact  most  of  their  furniture,  and  a  number 
of  works  of  art  of  great  value.  The  latter  M.  Antoine 
was  too  ignorant  to  appreciate,  and  had  quite  disdained. 

Jiilien  felt  no  confidence  in  the  unexpected  generosity 
of  his  relative,  attended,  as  it  had  been,  by  so  many  mys- 
terious circumstances,  and  for  which  he  had  been  forbid- 
den to  thank  him.  He  was  so  uneasy,  indeed,  about 
the  whole  affair,  that  he  would  have  refused  the  gift 
altogether,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  obvious  duty  of  slc- 
rific'ing  his  pride  to  insure  his  mother's  comtort.  Mate- 
rially, they  were  really  well  off.  The  annuity  of  five 
thousand  francs  enabled  them  to  live  in  a  modest  way, 
without  waiting  every  week,  in  feverish  anxiety,  for  the 
proceeds  of  weary  labor.    Madam  Thierry  could  not  help 


204 


ANTONIA. 


feeling  extreme  delight  in  returning  to  her  own  house, 
her  dearest  recollections,  her  old  habits  and  her  old  ac- 
quaintances. The  circle  that  gathered  around  her  was 
less  numerous  than  in  the  days  when  she  used  to  keep  an 
open  table,  but  it  was  composed  of  reliable  people.  Only 
her  true  friends  sought  her  out ;  and,  knowing  that  her 
income  was  not  large,  they  took  pains  to  secure  a  good 
sale  for  Julien's  pictures.  It  is  only  when  free  from  dis- 
tress that  one's  talents  can  be  used  to  advantage.  Julicn 
no  longer  found  it  necessary  to  fatigue  himself  with  over- 
work ;  patronized  by  an  intelligent  and  friendly  coterie, 
he  achieved,  without  difficulty,  an  assured  success.  When 
his  mother  expressed  the  secret  dissatisfaction  which  she 
still  felt  at  being  under  obligation  to  M.  Autoine,  he  was 
able  to  console  her. 

"  Don't  be  troubled,"  he  said,  "  I  will  pay  off  all  that 
we  owe  him,  and  in  spite  of  himself,  if  necessary.  It  is 
only  a  question  of  time.  Take  comfort.  You  see  that  I 
don't  allow  Julie's  absence  to  make  me  unhappy,  and  that 
1  am  waiting  an  explanation  of  her  conduct,  confidently 
and  firmly." 

Julien  had  not  altered  in  behavior  or  manner,  —  not 
even  the  expression  of  his  face  had  changed,  —  since  the 
unhappy  day  of  Julie's  disappearance.  At  first,  he  be- 
lieved every  word  that  Marcel  had  told  him  ;  but,  when 
be  received  no  letter  from  the  countess,  his  suspicions 
began  to  be  aroused.  He  made  inquiries  which  satisfied 
him  that  she  was  not  in  Beauvoisis,  and  gradually  began  to 
paess  some  part  of  the  fatal  truth.  Julie  was  free,  — 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that,  —  for  Marcel  had 
sworn  that  she  was  so,  repeatedly.  But  he  refused  to 
swear,  or  even  to  afiirm  anything  about  her  state  of 
feeling ;  upon  that  point,  everything  was  left  to  the 
artist's  conjectures.  Marcel  persistently  refused  to  be  the 
recipient  of  his  cousin's  confidence,  and  this  made  it  easier 
for  him  to  elude  his  questions.  The  Machiavelian  plot 
of  M.  Antoine  was  too  strange  to  occur  to  a  straight- 
forward mind  like  Julien's.  Jealousy,  without  love,  he 
had  never  even  conceived  of;  and  he  would  have  con- 
sidered it  an  iusult  to  Julie,  and  a  sort  of  sacrilege,  to 


ANTONIA. 


205 


admit  that  the  old  man  was  in  love  with  her.  Nor  was 
the  old  man  in  love  with  lier ;  nothing  is  more  certain 
than  that.  And  yet,  notwithstanding,  he  was  as  jealous 
of  Julien  as  a  tiger ;  and  it  is  true,  also,  that  the  most 
implacable  form  of  jealousy  is  that  which  is  unaccom- 
panied by  love.  Julien  thought  he  was  insane.  Who 
can  conjecture  the  schemes  of  a  crazy  man  ? 

But,  whatever  these  schemes  may  have  been,  he  was 
firmly  pursuaded  that  they  could  not  have  had  any  cfl'ect 
upon  Julie's  resolution. 

"  No  !  "  he  said  to  himself;  "  no  money  consideration 
could  ever  have  weighed  with  a  heart  so  noble.  Julie 
wishes  to  break  off  her  engagement  with  me ;  she  be- 
lieves this  to  be  necessary,  and,  although  at  the  cost  of 
great  suffering,  she  severs  the  tie  in  silence.  She  is  ap- 
prehensive about  her  reputation  ;  the  marchioness  has 
threatened  to  destroy  it ;  and  her  friends  have  persuadec 
her  that  if  she  marries  a  plebeian,  she  can  never  regain 
her  social  position.  That  is  the  opinion  of  the  world. 
Julie  believed,  for  an  instant,  that  she  was  superior  to 
such  prejudices  ;  her  love  for  me  made  her  overestimate 
her  strength.  Her  character  is  proud  and  noble,  but  her 
intellect,  perhaps,  is  not  very  powerful ;  and,  at  present, 
she  is  exerting  all  her  force  of  character  in  favor  of 
prejudices  which  destroy  her  love.  Poor  dear  Julie  ! 
she  must  be  unhappy,  for  she  has  a  kind  heart,  and 
must  feel  that  I  am  suffering.  But  for  herself,  I  am 
almost  certain  that  she  wishes  to  forget  me.*' 

Marcel  felt  more  hopeful  about  Julien's  mental  recovery 
than  that  of  the  countess.  He  saw  the  young  man  as 
seldom  and  for  as  short  a  time  as  possible,  in  order  to 
avoid  his  questions.  One  day,  being  obliged  to  come  to 
the  house  to  report  to  his  aunt  on  a  matter  of  business 
with  which  she  had  intrusted  him,  he  found  her  alone. 

"  Where  is  Julien?"  he  asked  her  ;  "  in  his  studio?  " 

"  No,  he  has  taken  to  gardening.  It  seems  to  be  a 
consolation  to  him  to  sow  and  plant  in  this  dear  plot 
of  ground  which  we  have  recovered.  He  has  been  ip 
trouble,  Marcel,  —  in  far  greater  trouble  than  you  kuov 


2o6'  ANTONIA, 

of.     He  was  in  love  with  Madam  d'Estrelle  ;  I  was  quite 
right  about  that ;  and  even  —  " 

''  Well,  well,"  said  Marcel,  who  wished  to  avoid  any 
disclosures,  "it  is  all  over  now,  is  it  not?  There's  an 
end  of  it?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  the  widow,  "  I  believe  so.  If  he 
has  been  deceiving  me  — .  No,  after  all  the  hopes  which 
he  entertained,  he  could  not  do  so  ;  is  it  not  true.  Mar- 
cel? He  could  not  deceive  the  eyes  of  a  mother  who 
adores  him?" 

''  Undoubtedly  not.  Good-night,  and  pleasant  dreams, 
aunt !     I  will  go  and  bid  good-day  to  Julien." 

"  If  he  is  deceiving  his  mother  after  the  destruction  of 
his  hopes,"  thought  Marcel,  as  he  looked  for  Julien  in  the 
shrubbery,  ''  he's  a  devilish  resolute  fellow  !  " 

Julien  was  digging  a  trench  to  transplant  some  young 
trees.  He  had  on  a  linen  smock,  and  was  bare-headed. 
Standing  in  the  loose  earth,  with  his  hands  resting  on  the 
handle  of  his  spade,  —  like  a  laborer  pausing  to  take 
breath,  — he  was  in  such  a  profound  reverie  that  he  did 
not  hear  Marcel  coming  ;  and  the  latter,  seeing  his  profile, 
was  struck  by  the  expression  of  his  face.  The  grief 
which  had  already  altered  Julie's  beauty  had  not  yet  left 
any  traces  upon  that  manly  countenance,  but  he  had  the 
sauie  strained  expression,  —  the  same  look  of  fixed,  mel- 
ancholy hopelessness,  —  which  Marcel  had  noticed  in  her. 

When  Julien  saw  his  cousin  he  smiled,  but  without  any 
start  of  surprise.  It  was  precisely  so,  with  this  same 
cold,  patient  smile,  that  Julie  received  him  ;  a  smile  sweet, 
but  terrible,  like  that  which  sometimes  flits  over  the  lips 
of  the  dying. 

''  That  is  bad,"  thought  Marcel ;  "  he  is  devilish  reso- 
lute, that's  the  fact ;  and  yet  he  is,  perhaps,  the  most  un- 
happy of  the  two." 

So  distressed  did  he  feel,  that  he  could  not  hide  his 
emotion.  He  was  very  fond  of  Julien,  and  his  prudence 
failed  him. 

''What  is  the  matter?  "  he  said  ;  "you  are  unhappy  !  " 

"  My  friend,  you  know  very  well  that  I  am  unhappy," 
answered   the   artist,  quitting   his   spade,    and  walking 


ANTONIA.  207 

under  the  trees  with  his  cousin  ;  ''  how  could  it  possibly 
be  otherwise?  You  know  there  is  a  woman  I  am  in 
love  with,  —  my  mother  has  told  you  so.  That  woman 
has  disappeared.  You  need  not  tell  me  she  will 
return  ;  I  know  perfectly  well  that  she  must  return.  But 
I  know,  also,  that  I  ought  never  to  enter  her  presence 
again,  —  that  she  is  dead  to  me." 

"  And  —  have  you  the  courajre  to  accept  your  fate  ?  " 

"  Ah  —  if  it  is  my  duty  !  You  know  one  always  ac- 
cepts one's  duty." 

"  One  submits  to  it  with  more  or  less  fortitude  ;  still, 
a  man  is  a  man,  and  cannot  help  feeling." 

"  That  is  true  I  I  suffer  exceedingly,  Marcel,  but  I 
have  kept  my  disappointment  to  myself  hitherto,  and 
shall  continue  to  do  so ;  you  need  have  no  doubt  about 
that.  Why,  then,  do  you  refuse  to  help  me  a  little?  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  might  do  so.  You  have  been  very 
cruel  for  the  last  two  months." 

"  How  can  I  help  you?"  inquired  Marcel,  who  feared 
that  he  would  try  and  persuade  him  to  reveal  Julie's 
retreat. 

"  Mon  Dieu  I "  answered  Julien,  divining  his  friend's 
thoughts,  "  you  can  tell  me  that  she's  happier  than  I 
am.     I  will  ask  nothing  more  of  you." 

"  But  how  should  I  know?  " 

"  You  see  her  two  or  three  times  a  week.  Come,  my 
friend,  you  have  done  your  duty.  Proving  your  de- 
votion to  her,  and  to  me  also,  perhaps,  you  have  endured 
my  distress  with  a  terrible  courage.  But  I  have  found 
out  some  of  your  secrets.  I  learned  yesterday,  from  your 
eon,  where  she  is  living." 

"  Julio  don't  ku<  w  what  he  is  talking  about ;  he  don't 
know  her." 

"  He  saw  her  one  day  at  the  theatre,  and,  although 
he  don't  know  her  name,  —  he  calls  her  "  the  country 
client,"  —  he  has  never  forgotten  her.  Her  grace  and 
sweetness  made  a  great  impression  upon  him,  and  he  has 
often  talked  to  me  about  her." 

"Well;  goon." 

*'•  He  went  last  Sunday  to  the  fete  at  Nanterre,  with  a 


2o8  ANTONIA, 

friend  of  his  own  age,  did  he  not?  You  put  him  under 
the  care  of  the  little  fellow's  parents." 

''  Yes,  it's  true." 

"  The  boys  escaped  from  their  elders  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  ran  about  the  village.  The  little  rogues  were 
tempted  by  a  tree  loaded  with  fruit,  and  hanging  over 
a  low  wall.  Julio  got  upon  his  comrade's  shoulders, 
reached  some  of  the  boughs,  and,  while  he  was  fdling  his 
pockets,  saw  a  woman  go  by  underneath,  whom  he 
recognized.  I  know  the  street,  and  made  him  describe 
the  appearance  of  the  house.  Going  to  Nanterre,  I  made 
inquiries,  and  learned  that  a  Madame  d'Erlange  (that  is 
Julie,  —  she  has  taken  an  assumed  name)  was  living  there 
with  her  maid  ;  that  she  never  went  out,  but  was  under  no 
sort  of  surveillance,  and  was  living  alone  by  choice  ;  also, 
that  she  was  not  supposed  to  be  ill,  although  your  son  said 
that  she  was  changed.  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 
either  she  is  a  prisoner  on  parole,  or  is  afraid  of  being  im- 
portuned by  me.  Marcel,  tell  me  the  real  truth.  If  the 
latter  is  the  case,  bring  her  home,  I  implore  you,  and 
assure  her  that  she  need  feel  no  anxiety ;  tell  her  I 
swear  by  all  that  is  most  sacred  never  to  see  her  again. 
Do  you  hear.  Marcel  ?  Answer,  and  relieve  me  from  the 
torment  of  this  uncertainty." 

"  Well,  it  is  very  much  as  you  say,"  answered  Mar- 
cel, after  a  little  hesitation ;  "  Madam  d'Estrelle  is  a 
prisoner  on  parole ;  but  the  engagement  into  which  she 
has  entered  is  with  herself,  and  nobody  can  force  her  tc 
keep  it.  She  is  free  to  return,  but  she  cannot  see  you  any 
more." 

''  Cannot,  or  does  not  wish  to  ?  " 

"  She  neither  can,  nor  wishes  to." 

"  Very  well,  Marcel.  That  is  enough !  Inform  her 
of  my  determination  to  submit  to  her  decision,  and  bring 
her  back  from  her  banishment.  She  is  poorly  lodged 
over  there,  and  must  be  terribly  lonely.  Let  her 
return  to  her  friends,  her  comforts,  her  liberty.  Go  at 
once,  won't  you?  Hasten  !  Don't  allow  her  to  s?ifFer  a 
single  moment  longer  upon  my  account !  " 


ANTONIA. 


209 


"Very  well,  I  will  go,"  said  Marcel ;  "  I'm  going  ;  but 
about  yourself?  " 

"  Don't  think  of  me,"  cried  Julien  ;  "  what  1  haven't 
you  gone  yet  ?  " 

He  cordially  embraced  Marcel,  but,  at  the  same  time, 
fairly  put  him  out  of  the  door  by  the  shoulders. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Julien  went  to  his 
mother. 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  said,  with  a  cheerful  countenance, 
"  things  look  better  than  I  had  hoped.  Madam  d'Estrelle 
is  not  a  captive,  and  she  is  soon  coming  home." 

As  he  said  this,  he  watched  his  mother.  She  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  joy,  but  at  the  same  time  a  shadow 
passed  over  her  face.  Julien  sat  down  by  her  side,  and 
took  both  her  hands. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,'*  said  he  ;  "  the  idea  of  this  mar- 
riage troubles  you  a  little  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  help  earnestly  desiring  an  event  that 
would  make  you  happy?  I  was  only  a  little  startled, 
because  I  thought  you  no  longer  hoped." 

"  I  have  been  very  resigned,  as  you  advised.  You 
told  me  not  to  be  discouraged,  but  to  wait,  and  not  to 
think  too  much  about  her ;  you  warned  me  that  she 
would  perhaps  forget  me,  and  that  I  ought  then  to  forget 
her." 

"  And  you  promised  me  that  you  would  forget,  if  nec- 
essary. 13 ut  now  I  see  that  you  are  thinking  of  iicr 
more  than  ever." 

"And  don't  you  think  I  have  reasons  for  rejoicing? 
Tell  me  frankly  if  I  am  deceiving  myself;  you  ought  to 
prevent  me  from  doing  so." 

"Ah,  my  child,  what  shall  I  tell  you?  She  is  an 
adorable  being !  I  am  like  you,  —  I  love  her ;  but  will 
she  be  happy  with  us  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  M.  Antoiue  is  doing  almost  as  well  by 
her  as  by  you  ;  that  he  has  placed  her  above  want.  You 
were  afraid  we  would  suffer  on  account  of  our  pov- 
erty, but  that  need  no  longer  be  feared.  Now,  what  is  it 
that  troubles  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  if  she  loves  you  I  '* 
14 


2IO  ANTONIA. 

"  You  sif^h  as  you  say  that.     Do  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  doubted  it  thus  far,  nor  can  you  blame  me ! 
If  I  do  her  an  injustice,  it  is  your  fault  and  hers.  You 
did  not  take  me  into  your  confidence,  allow  me  to  watch 
the  growth  of  your  love,  to  follow  its  phases ;  and  when 
you  told  me  one  morning,  '  We  love  each  other  to  dis- 
traction,* I  must  say  I  thought  your  passion  too  sudden 
to  be  very  serious.  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  hardly 
knew  each  other !  When  I  confessed  my  love  to  your 
father,  he  had  been  three  years  at  work  decorating 
our  house,  and  I  had  seen  him  every  day.  I  had  had 
many  good  offers,  and  v^^as  perfectly  sure  that  I  loved  no- 
body but  him.  Julie's  position  in  regard  to  you  is  very 
different.  She  has  lived  secluded,  and  has  not  yet 
received  proposals  from  persons  of  good  position,  whom 
she  might  have  loved.  She  was  longing  for  affection, 
and  w^as  suffering  terribly  from  ennui,  without  acknowl- 
edging it.  She  saw  you,  and  esteemed  you,  as  you  deserve. 
You  pleased  her,  naturally.  Peculiar  circumstances  have 
thrown  you  together,  and  she  imagined  that  she  loved  you 
passionately.  Did  she  deceive  herself?  The  future  will 
show  ;  but  she  disappeared  at  the  very  moment  when  she 
had  promised  to  avow  her  engagement,  and  has  let 
you  suffer  and  wait  without  sending  you  one  word  of 
consolation.  If  I  have  doubted  her,  you  must  admit 
that  appearances  are  against  her." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  her  prejudices  are  stronger  than 
her  love?  You  think  she  was  not  speaking  the  truth 
when  she  told  me  with  what  enthusiasm  she  would  em- 
brace a  humble  position  in  life,  and  how  little  she  cared 
for  rank  and  titles  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  that,  I  say  that  she  may  have  deceived 
herself  about  the  strength  of  her  attachment  for  you,  and 
the  reality  of  her  disgust  for  the  world." 

"And  you  would  not  be  much  surprised  if  you  should 
be  told  that  you  had  judged  correctly?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"  Nor  much  distressed  ?  " 

"  That  would  depend  upon  you  ;  I  should  be  afflicted 
in  proportion  to  the  bitterness  of  yoar  regrets.     If  you 


ANTONIA.  ail 

bore  the  blow  bravely,  I  should  say  that  it  was  the  best 
thing  that  could  have  happened  ;  and  that  you  will  soma 
day  secure  the  love  of  a  wiser  and  stronger  woman." 

"  Poor  Julie  ! "  thought  Julien  to  himself,  "  even  my 
own  mother  regards  her  love  for  me  as  a  mistake  and 
weakness." 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  take  comfort ! 
She  has  renounced  the  dream  we  indulged  in  together ; 
she  no  longer  believes  in  it,  and  is  only  afraid  I  will 
seek  to  recall  it  to  her  mind.  All  that  you  foresaw  has 
happened.  Marcel  has  just  been  telling  me  about  it,  and 
I  have  given  him  my  word  that  I  would  never  see  her 
again." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu ! "  cried  Madam  Thierry,  startled  and 
alarmed  ;  "  how  can  you  tell  me  such  a  thing  so  quietly? 
Can  you  really  be  so  indifferent  to  her  as  that  ?  " 

"  You  see  for  yourself.  I  was  very  much  disturbed 
the  first  few  days,  nor  did  I  hide  this  from  you  ;  but,  as 
time  passed  on,  I  have  understood  perfectly  the  silence 
of  Madam  d'Estrelle.  My  tranquillity  now  is  the  result 
of  two  months  reflection.  You  need  not  be  astonished, 
therefore,  and  I  hope  you  will  believe  that  I  have  enough 
pride  and  good  sense  to  recover  from  any  sorrow  that  I 
may  have  felt." 

Julien's  firmness  was  not  assumed,  he  spoke  in  perfect 
good  faith.  But  he  did  not  confess  the  whole  truth.  He 
was  suffering  too  much  to  make  even  a  half-way  avowal 
of  his  misery  safe.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  keep  it  entirely  to  himself. 

In  the  evening  it  was  very  warm,  and  he  went  out  to 
take  a  swim  in  the  river.  He  usually  joined,  for  this 
amusement,  a  few  young  artists  engaged  in  the  porcelain 
manufactory,  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  assisting  with 
advice  and  instruction.  But  to-day,  wishing  to  be  alone, 
he  avoided  them,  and  selected  a  solitary  spot  on  the  mar- 
gin of  a  shady  meadow.  The  weather  was  dull  and 
gloomy.  He  threw  himself  mechanically  into  the  water, 
and  all  of  a  sudden  the  thought  came  into  his  head,  as  he 
was  swimming  along,  — 

'*  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  could  ever  recover  from  this  atro- 


212  ANT  ONI  A. 

cious  pain.  If  I  should  stop  striking  out  for  a  few  in. 
stants,  this  water  would  swallow  up  my  sorrow,  and  keep 
the  secret  of  my  discouragement." 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he  stopped 
swimming,  and  sank  quickly.  But  he  rememhered  his 
mother's  despair,  and,  as  he  touched  bottom,  sent  himself 
to  the  top  again  with  one  spring.  He  was  a  fine  swim- 
mer, and  perhaps  ran  no  risk  in  this  trifling  with  death  ; 
but  the  temptation  was  powerful,  and  there  is  a  terrible 
fascination  in  the  idea  of  suicide.  Three  times  he 
yielded,  with  more  and  more  longing,  and  saved  himself 
with  less  and  less  resolution.  A  fourth  time  the  bewil- 
dering frenzy  seized  him,  and  with  more  violence  than 
ever.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  shore,  frightened  at 
himself,  and,  lying  upon  the  sand,  cried,  — 

"  My  poor  mother,  pardon  me  !  " 

Then  he  wept  bitterly ;  for  the  first  time  since  his 
father's  death. 

His  tears  afforded  him  no  relief.  The  weeping  of  a 
strong  man  is  a  frightful  agony  ;  stifled  cries,  terrible 
suffocations  convulsed  his  frame.  He  blushed  at  his  own 
weakness,  and  at  being  obliged  to  confess  that  he  could 
not  rally  from  it,  and  might,  perhaps,  never  do  so.  He 
returned  home,  discontented  with  himself,  and  almost 
cursing  the  days  of  happiness  that  he  had  enjoyed.  Then 
he  began  to  be  angry ;  and,  while  his  mother  was  asleep, 
he  lingered  alone  in  the  garden,  watching  the  lightning 
that  played  along  the  horizon,  and  reproaching  his  mother 
for  loving  him  too  much,  and  depriving  him  of  the  lib- 
erty of  disposing  of  himself. 

"  It  is  slavery,"  he  cried,  "  to  be  always  living  for 
somebody  besides  yourself.  I  have  not  even  the  right 
to  die.  Why  should  I  have  a  mother?  Those  are  most 
fortunate  who  have  no  ties.  If  they  still  desire  to  pre- 
serve a  life  that  is  ruined,  they  can  plunge  into  bewilder- 
ing dissipation,  into  intoxicating  debaucheries,  and  so  find 
forgetfulness.  For  my  part,  I  have  not  even  that  right. 
I  cannot  even  have  the  consolation  of  being  melancholy 
and  ill.  I  am  to  die  by  a  slow  fire,  and  with  a  smile ; 
—  to  shed  a  tear  is  a  crime !     I  cannot  breathe  hard, 


ANTONIA. 


213 


I  c  mnot  have  a  dream,  or  speak  in  my  sleep,  but  my 
mother  is  up,  ill  herself  with  alarm.  Nor  can  I  make 
any  change  in  my  way  of  living ;  I  cannot  travel,  try  to 
find  forgetfalness  or  distraction  in  motion  and  fatigue ; 
anything  of  that  kind  would  make  her  unhappy.  To  live 
without  me  would  kill  her.  I  must  be  either  a  hero  or 
saint,  in  order  to  keep  my  mother  alive  !  Happy  are  or- 
phans and  abandoned  children  !  They  are  not  condemned 
to  carry  a  burden  too  great  for  their  strength." 

As  soon  as  he  had  given  way  to  this  rebellion  against 
ftite,  other  blasphemies  rushed  into  his  mind.  Why  had 
Julie  come  to  interrupt  his  dream  of  devoted ness  and  vir- 
tue? He  had  accepted  all  the  obligations  of  his  position, 
and  had  fulfilled  them  thoroughly.  What  right  had  she 
to  take  possession  of  his  life,  because  weary  of  her  own 
solitude?  Was  it  not  wicked  and  cowardly  in  her  to 
have  revealed  to  him  the  joys  of  heaven,  —  to  him  who 
had  neither  hoped  for  nor  asked  her  love,  —  only  to  leave 
him  afterwards  to  the  humiliation  of  having  believed  in 
her? 

"  You  have  made  me  a  wretch  !  "  he  cried,  rage  and 
grief  contending  within  him ;  "  you  have  robbed  me  of 
my  self-respect,  of  all  love  of  my  art ;  you  have  made  me 
curse  the  love  of  my  own  mother,  distrust  my  strength, 
abandon  myself  to  the  stupid  and  shameful  notion  of  sui- 
cide !  It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  should  revenge 
myself,  — seek  you  out  amid  your  friends,  and  reproach 
you  with  the  loss  of  my  faith,  my  peace,  my  dignity.  I 
will  do  it,  —  yes  !  You,  also,  shall  be  crushed  by  my 
misery." 

The  idea  of  Julie's  future  life,  such  as  it  would  prob- 
ably be,  occurred  to  him,  and  his  heart  was  tortured  by 
all  the  pangs  of  jealousy.  He  saw  her  in  the  arms  of 
another,  and  thought  of  a  hundred  ways  of  murdering  his 
rival. 

Going  off  into  the  fields,  he  wandered  about  at  ran- 
dom, until  he  found  himself  once  more  at  the  edge  of  the 
water.  The  storm  had  become  violent,  and  a  tree,  not 
far  off,  was  struck  by  lightning.  He  rushed  up  to  it, 
hoping  that  the  same  bolt  would  strike  him.     The  raiu 


214  ANTONIA. 

fell  in  torrents,  but  he  scarcely  felt  it ;  it  was  almost 
daylight  when  he  returned,  ashamed  lest  any  one  should 
see  him  in  such  a  demented  condition.  He  slept  two 
hours,  and  awoke  exhausted,  frightened  at  what  had 
taken  place  within  him,  and  determined  not  to  let  him- 
self be  carried  away  again  by  the  violence  of  a  passion^ 
whose  extreme  danger  he  had  not  before  understood.  It 
was  with  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  that  he  got  up  and  took 
breakfast  with  his  mother. 

''  Since  love  is  the  supreme  good  of  life,"  he  said  to 
her,  "  I  had  always  believed  that  it  must  elevate  and 
sanctify.  I  see,  however,  that  it  is  nothing  but  an  exag- 
gerated selfishness,  and  that  it  makes  us  either  madmen 
or  fools.  Love  must  be  conquered,  but  it  cannot  be 
broken  off  like  a  material  chain ;  it  must  be  gradually 
extinguished." 

Julien  had  a  violent  attack  of  fever,  and  was  delirious. 
In  his  frenzy  he  revealed  all  his  agony  to  his  mother, 
and  she  also,  in  her  heart,  cursed  poor  Julie. 

Marcel,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  gone  to  see  Julie. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  ought  now  to  go  back  to 
your  house." 

"  Never,  my  friend,"  she  replied,  with  her  melancholy 
sweetness.  "  I  am  very  well  off  here  ;  living  on  my  little 
income,  and  with  all  I  want,  why  should  I  be  discon- 
tented? Unless  you  obJ3Ct  to  having  me  remain  in  your 
house  —  " 

"  The  house  is  not  mine.  I  deceived  you  as  to  that ; 
but  you  can  remain  in  it,  unless  you  will  do  what  I  ask 
you,  out  of  regard  for  Julien." 

"  For  Julien  ?  —  How  so  ?  " 

"  Julien  knows  where  you  are.  He  knows  that  it  is 
your  wish  not  to  see  him  again,  and  he  has  given  his 
oath  that  he  will  not  attempt  to  disobey  you.  He  sub- 
mits entirely  to  a  decision,  whose  motives  he  does  not 
know.  You  have,  therefore,  no  reason  for  concealing 
yourself  any  longer." 

"  Ah  !  very  well,"  said  Julie,  in  a  bewildered  sort  of 
way  ;  —  "  but  where  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  To  Paris  ;  to  your  own  home." 


ANTONIA.  215 

'*  I  have  no  home." 

"  That  is  possible  ;  but  you  are  supposed  to  be  tempo- 
rarily in  possession  of  your  hotel.  You  are  supposed  to 
be  arranging  a  settlement  with  M.  Antoine.  It  is  best 
that  you  should  be  seen  ;  if  you  prolong  your  mysterious 
absence  too  much,  it  will  give  rise  to  suspicions  and  cal- 
umnies." 

"  What  would  people  say  ?  " 

"  Whatever  can  be  said  of  a  woman  who  is  supposed  to 
have  something  to  hide." 

"  What  difierence  does  it  make  to  me?" 

"  For  Julien's  sake,  you  should  guard  your  reputation. 
So  far  we  have  succeeded  in  preventing  any  insinuations 
from  being  made  against  you." 

"  Julien  knows  very  well  that  I  have  nothing  with 
which  to  reproach  myself." 

"  It  is  for  that  very  reason  that  he  will  cut  the  throat 
of  the  first  man  who  says  a  word  to  your  disadvantage." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,"  said  Julie,  ringing  for  Camille. 
*'  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish,  my  friend,  provided  I 
never  need  see  M.  Antoine  again." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  madam ;  I  had  one  single  hope 
left." 

"  Ah,  you  have  one  single  hope  left,  have  you  ?  "  said 
Julie,  with  her  wistful  smile. 

"  It  would  not  be  the  truth  to  call  it  a  very  well-founded 
one,"  answered  Marcel,  sadly  ;  "  but  I  must  not  abandon 
it,  except  at  the  last  extremity.  Do  not  deprive  me  of 
the  means  of  subduing  the  obstinacy  of  M.  Antoine." 

"  To  what  purpose?"  answered  Julie.  "  Did  you  not 
explain  to  me  that  it  is  a  misfortune  for  a  plebeian  to 
marry  a  woman  of  rank  ;  that  in  such  a  case  his  life  be- 
comes a  torment,  a  martyrdom,  a  frightful  struggle.?" 

"  Ah,  madam,  but  if  the  plebeian  is  very  wealthy,  most 
people  would  pardon  you." 

'*  And  so  I  must  ask  your  uncle  to  enrich  the  man  I 
love  ?  I  must  dishonor  myself  in  my  own  eyes,  and  per- 
haps in  Julien's,  in  order  to  obtain  the  pardon  of  a  cruel 
and  heartless  world.  You  ask  too  much  of  me.  Marcel ; 
you  are  taking  advantage  of  my  weakness  and  submis- 


2i6  ANT  ON  I  A. 

siveness.  May  God  give  me  strength  for  one  thing,  — * 
to  resist  you  in  this ;  for,  after  such  a  shame,  I  should 
feel  that  I  had  lived  too  long." 

Poor  Marcel  was  overwhelmed  with  fatigue  and  vexa- 
tion. He  had  exhausted  himself  in  running  about,  in 
arguing,  in  efforts  of  all  kinds,  and  all  he  had  accom- 
plished was  to  rescue  his  friends  from  poverty,  and  place 
them  in  a  condition  of  material  comfort.  As  far  as  re- 
gards their  spiritual  state  he  could  do  nothing ;  and  he 
said  to  his  wife  that  evening,  — 

"  My  good  friend,  nothing  is  falser  than  the  real.  I 
have  been  trying  to  secure  them  the  means  of  living,  and 
have  only  succeeded  in  killing  them." 


VIII, 


JULIE  returned  to  Paris  and  to  her  former  luxury ;  she 
found  her  equipages,  her  jewels  and  servants  awaiting 
her.  M.  Antoine  had  been  a  faithful  guardian,  and  the 
hotel  d'Estrelle  was  unchanged.  She  paid  no  attention  to 
anything.  Marcel  had  vainly  hoped  that  she  would  at 
least  feel  some  sort  of  instinctive  happiness  on  being  sur- 
rounded once  more  by  these  familiar  scenes.  He  was 
alarmed,  and  almost  vexed  at  her  immovable  indifference. 
He  had  sent  word  of  her  return  to  such  of  her  friends  as 
he  could  communicate  with,  and  imagined  that  she  would 
feel  obliged  to  arouse  herself  in  their  presence.  She  met 
them,  however,  without  emotion ;  and  when  they  ex- 
pressed alarm  at  her  paleness  and  evident  exhaustion,  she 
attributed  her  changed  appearance  to  a  cold  which  she 
had  taken  on  the  journey,  and  which  had  detained  her  in 
the  country  longer  than  she  expected.  It  was  nothing, 
she  said  ;  she  had  been  worse,  and  was  now  improving  ; 
and  had  preferred  not  to  write,  in  order  not  to  alarm  any- 
body.    She  promised  to  see  her  physician,  and  get  well. 

The  Baroness  d'Ancourt  called  a  few  days  after  her 
arrival. 


ANT  ONI  A.  217 

"  I  have  treated  you  badly,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sorry, 
my  dear  Julie,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  yom*  pardon." 

''  I  have  no  ill  feelings  towards  you,"  replied  Madam 
d'Estrelle. 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,  I  know  you  are  a  great  philos- 
opher, or  else  a  great  saint.  But  you  are  a  woman,  too, 
my  friend.     You  have  been  persecuted,  and  you  suffer." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu !  You  have  been  tormented  by  your 
creditors  so  long,  that  you  have  become  quite  accustomed, 
I  know,  to  being  persecuted  by  them.  But  it  seems  there 
came  a  crisis  when  you  were  in  danger  of  losing  every- 
thing. It  is  said  that  you  have  secured  a  further  delay, 
although  with  a  great  deal  of  difficulty,  and  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  they  are  only  drawing  back  to  make  a  surer 
spring.     You  told  Madam  des  Morges  so,  did  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  true.  I  am  only  stajdng  here  while  a  final 
adjustment  is  being  made." 

"But  you  will  be  able  to  save  something  for  your 
self?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  retam  any  of  M.  d'Estrelle's  prop- 
erty.    I  ought  to  surrender  it,  and  I  prefer  to." 

"  No  wonder,  then,  that  you  are  so  pale  and  changed. 
I  was  told  that  you  were  wonderfully  resigned,  and  it  is 
perfectly  true ;  but  y9u  are  ill  with  sorrow.  You  do 
^vrong,  my  dear  friend,  to  reject  the  consolations  of 
friendship.  You  are  playing  a  very  grand  part,  but  it 
will  kill  you  !  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  make  a 
great  lamentation  and  outcry.  It  would  not  help  me  at 
all,  I  suppose,  but  it  would  be  a  comfort.  And  then  I 
should  be  talked  about,  society  would  feel  an  interest  in 
me,  and  it  is  always  a  consolation  to  attract  attention. 
You,  on  the  contrary,  are  allowing  yourself  to  be  buried 
alive  without  saying  a  single  word  ;  and  the  world,  which 
is  selfish,  will  forget  that  there  is  any  such  person  in  ex- 
istence. Only  yesterday  evening,  they  were  talking  about 
you  at  the  Duchess  de  B — *s.  '  That  poor  Madam  d'Es- 
trelle,* said  some  one,  *  she  is  quite  ruined ;  have  you 
heard  about  it?  She  won't  have  *he  means  of  hiring  a 
fiacre  to  make  calls.' 


2i8  ANT  ON  I  A, 

"'What?'  said  the  Marquis  de  S — ,  'must  we  see 
such  a  pretty  woman  as  that  going  about  on  foot  ?  Im- 
possible !  Shocking  !  Is  she  very  unhappy  ? '  —  '  Not 
at  all/  answered  Madam  des  Morges ;  '  she  says  she 
will  do  perfectly  well.  She  is  an  astonishing  person  !  * 
And  then  they  changed  the  subject.  The  moment  you 
show  that  you  have  courage,  nobody  has  any  more  com- 
passion for  you,  and  all  the  more  since  it  is  easiest  to  be 
thinking  only  about  one's  self." 

Julie  only  smiled. 

"  It  frightens  me  to  see  you  smile  in  that  way !  "  con- 
tinued the  baroness.  "  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  I  think 
you  are  very  ill.  What  is  the  use  in  being  so  reserved  ? 
If  you  are  so  very  sensitive,  you  will  grow  careless  about 
yourself,  and  die,  or  languish  along,  and  lose  your  beauty, 
which  is  worse  than  dying.  Take  care  of  yourself,  JuKe, 
and  do  not  give  way  as  you  are  doing.  We  are  not  as 
much  deceived  as  you  think,  by  your  wonderful  courage. 
We  all  know  perfectly  well  that  it  is  impossible  to  lose  a 
fortune,  without  regret.  Do  you  know,  —  I  must  repeat 
it,  even  if  it  does  vex  you,  —  I  think  you  made  a  great 
mistake  in  not  marrying  that  rich  old  man  ;  and  perhaps 
it  is  not  too  late  to  revoke  your  decision.  Nobody  would 
blame  you  now  ;  when  a  woman  is  utterly  ruined  —  " 

"Are  you  commissioned  to  make  me  another  offer 
upon  his  part  ?  "  said  Julie,  with  a  little  bitterness. 

"  No,  I  have  not  seen  him  since  the  day  we  quarrelled 
upon  his  account.  He  has  called  several  times,  but  I 
gave  orders  that  he  was  not  to  be  admitted.  Don't,  at 
any  rate,  feel  disgusted  with  the  idea  because  I  have 
referred  to  it.  K  he  should  return  to  you,  don't  refuse 
him ;  and  if  he  marries  you,  be  sure  that  I  wiU  receive 
him  for  your  sake." 

"  You  are  too  kind  !  "  said  Julie. 

"  You  insist  on  being  stiff  and  proud  with  me,  do  you? 
And  yet  I  am  your  friend,  and  have  proved  it.  I  fought 
a  battle  in  your  defence  a  little  while  ago.  One  of  the 
Marchioness  d'Estrelle's  friends,  some  cowardly  fellow, 
ventured  to  utter  an  insinuation  against  you  in  connection 
with  an  insignificant  painter,  son  of  the  famous  Thierry, 


ANTONIA. 


219 


— you  know  who  I  mean,  —  the  artist  who  lived  at  the 
end  of  your  garden.  I  said  that  a  woman  like  you  would 
never  degrade  herself  out  of  pure  frivolity,  and  ordered 
him  to  be  silent.  I  was  promptly  seconded  by  the  abbe 
de  Nivieres,  who  stated  that  the  young  man  did  not  even 
know  you ;  that  he  had  gone  to  live  at  Sevres  with  his 
mother  ;  that  he  was  a  capital  fellow,  and  that  he  declared 
expressly  that  he  had  never  seen  Madam  d'Estrelle  the 
whole  time  he  had  lived  near  her,  and  that  this  was  the 
truth.  By  the  way,  you  used  to  take  an  interest  in  those 
people,  did  you  not  —  in  the  mother,  at  least?  Do  you 
Rtill  see  them?" 

*'  She  has  no  need  of  my  services  any  longer,  so  that  I 
have  no  reason  for  seeing  them." 

"  It  is  only  your  health,  then,  about  which  I  feel  very 
much  concerned,  that  is  troubling  you  ?  Stay,  I  am  going 
to  spend  a  month  in  Chantilly  ;  suppose  you  accompany 
me.  We  shall  see  a  great  deal  of  company,  and  it  will 
do  you  good.  If  you  regain  your  pretty  color,  perhaps 
we  will  find  a  husband  for  you." 

The  baroness  at  last  took  leave.  Chattering,  offering 
her  services,  and  lamenting  over  her  friend  to  the  very 
step  of  her  carriage,  she  made  a  great  outcry  against  the 
selfishness  of  the  world,  and  all  the  while  did  not  care 
the  least  in  the  world  for  anybody  except  herself. 

"  Julie  is  a  great  deal  too  proud  and  suspicious,"  she 
thought ;  "  I  declare  I  won't  call  there  again  in  a  hurry. 
She  is  vexatious  enough.  If  she  wants  anything  of  me, 
she  knows  where  I  am  to  be  found." 

It  was  pretty  much  the  same  with  all  Madame  d'Es- 
trelle's  acquaintances.  She  had  never  realized,  before, 
the  neglect  into  which  those  fall  who  abandon  themselves ; 
and  she  ceased  all  the  more  to  care  for. herself,  because 
her  heart  was  withered  by  this  indifference. 

After  passing  several  days  in  this  way,  without  seem- 
ing to  consider  about  taking  any  measures  of  any  kind, 
she  waked  up,  as  it  were,  one  morning,  and  said  to 
Marcel,  — 

"  I  have  done  as  you  wished.  I  have  shown  myself  to 
my  friends,  explained  my  absence,  and  informed  them 


220  ANTONIA, 

that  I  was  soon  going  away  again.  It  is  time  to  wind 
up  my  affairs  definitely,  and  resign  my  house  to  M.  An- 
toine.  My  purpose  is  to  live  in  one  of  the  provinces,  — 
in  some  solitary  place  where  no  one  knows  me.  Camille 
will  accompany  me,  and  I  shall  take  no  one  else.  Will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  direct  me  in  selecting  some  lonely 
neighborhood  and  exceedingly  humble  abode  ?  " 

''  There  is  one  great  difficulty  in  the  way,"  said  Mar- 
cel;  "  M.  Antoine  will  not  allow  any  liquidation  to  be 
made.  His  release  in  full  is  in  my  portfolio,  and  he  has 
no  idea,  so  far,  but  that  it  has  been  accepted." 

"  And  you  received  that  release  from  him !  "  cried 
Julie,  indignantly  ;  ^'  he  believes  that  I  have  accepted  it ! 
You  were  not  courageous  enough  to  tear  it  up,  and  throw 
it  in  his  face  !  Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Marcel !  I  forgot 
that  he  is  your  kinsman,  and  that  you  must  necessarily 
treat  him  with  respect.  Very  well ;  give  me  the  docu- 
ment, and  bring  M.  Antoine  here.  The  transaction  must 
be  closed  to-day,  and  I  will  attend  to  it  myself." 

"  Be  careful,  madam,"  said  Marcel,  encouraged  by  the 
gleam  of  energy  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  displayed  when 
this  one  vulnerable  point  was  touched ;  ''  M.  Antoine  is 
himself  extremely  irritable,  and  it  gratifies  his  vanity  tc 
feel  that  you  are  indebted  to  him.  Do  not  quarrel  with 
him,  for  in  that  case  he  will  revenge  himself  upon  Julien." 

"  Is  not  Julien's  fortune  secured?  " 

''  Yes,  if  all  the  conditions  of  the  agreement  are  ob- 
served, but  I  should  deceive  you  if  I  affirmed  that  M. 
Antoine  is  aware  of  your  refusal  to  accept  your  part  of 
them." 

''  Oh,  mon  Dieul  Marcel,  into  what  a  situation  have 
you  brought  me  !  In  your  blind  devotion  to  practical 
matters,  your  obstinate  determination  to  save  me  from 
poverty,  you  have  disgraced  me  !  This  man  believes  that 
I  have  sold  my  heart,  —  that  he  has  bought  it  with  his 
money,  and  Julien,  —  he  also  must  suppose  that  I  have 
betrayed  my  love  for  wealth  !  Ah,  it  would  have  been 
better  if  you  had  killed  me  !  I  feel  to-day  distinctly  that 
I  cannot  endure  such  a  life  any  longer,  —  that  I  must 
die  I" 


ANT  ON  I  A.  221 

Julie,  who  had  not  wept  for  a  long  time,  sobbed  as  if 
her  heart  would  break.  Marcel  preferred  to  see  her  even 
thus,  rather  than  changed  into  a  statue.  Hoping  that  the 
consequences  of  a  violent  crisis  would  be  favorable,  he 
resolutely  provoked  one. 

"  Reproach  me,  curse  me,  if  you  choose,"  he  said, 
*'  but  I  did  it  for  Julien's  sake." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Julie,  "  and  I  was  wrong  to 
find  fault  with  you.  You  feel  sure,  then,  if  I  should 
offend  M.  Antoine  by  refusing  his  offer,  that  all  he  has 
done  for  Julien  will  become  a  matter  of  uncertainty  again  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly ;  and,  what  is  more,  he  would  have 
justice  on  his  side.  He  is  beginning  to  make  me  uneasy, 
—  so  impatient  is  he  becoming  to  have  you  proclaim  his 
merits,  and  cease  being  ashamed  of  accepting  his  kind- 
ness. You  must  drink  the  cup  ;  it  must  be  done,  for  the 
love  of  Julien,  —  if  indeed,  as  I  suppose,  that  love  still 
exists." 

"  Do  not  say  anything  about  that.  I  will  drink  it  to 
the  very  lees.  But  hovv  are  we  to  explain  to  the  world 
the  generosity  with  which  I  am  treated  ?  To  what  mo- 
tive will  it  be  attributed?  People  will  think  I  have  been 
paying  court  to  this  old  man,  —  that  I  have  fascinated  him 
by  some  discreditable  coquetry.  Perhaps  they  will  say 
even  worse !  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  Marcel,  who  wished  to  make  one 
decisive  experiment,  in  order  to  ascertain  Julie's  senti- 
ments. "  Evil  speakers  will  say  all  that ;  and  I  do  not 
see,  now,  how  to  prevent  it.  We  will  try  ;  but,  if  it  can- 
not be  done,  will  your  devotion  to  Julien  enable  you  to 
endure  even  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Madam  d'Estrelle  ;  "  I  will  endure  to  the 
end.     There  is  something  to  sign,  is  there  not?" 

And  she  thought  to  herself,  — 

*'  Afterwards,  I  will  kill  myself." 

"  You  will  not  have  any  new  engagements  to  make," 
said  Marcel ;  "  but  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  receive 
M.  Antoine,  and  thank  him.  I  am  absolutely  certain 
that  he  will  make  Julien's  fortune,  if  you  will  consent  to 
some  sort  of  reconciliation." 


222  ANTONIA, 

"  Go  and  bring  M.  Antoine,"  said  Julie.  "  I  will  kill 
myself  to-night,"  she  said  to  herself,  when  Marcel  had 
gone. 

Despair  had  so  intensified  Julie's  love,  that  she  v/as  no 
longer  capable  of  reasoning  calmly.  She  had  accepted 
the  fate  of  a  niartyr,  and  a  martyr's  enthusiasm  was  the 
only  feeling  that  still  bound  her  to  life. 

She  wrote  to  Julien : 

"  Here  is  the  key  of  the  pavilion.  Come  at  mid- 
night ;  you  will  find  me  there.  I  am  going  a  long  jour- 
ney, and  want  to  bid  you  an  eternal  farewell." 

This  letter,  with  the  key  enclosed  in  it,  she  sealed,  and 
gave  to  the  most  trustworthy  of  her  servants ;  ordering 
him  to  take  a  horse,  to  ride  as  fast  as  possible  to  Sevres, 
and  bring  her  an  answer.  It  was  now  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon. 

While  waiting  for  M.  Antoine,  she  went  out  into  the 
garden,  and  paused  by  the  edge  of  the  little  lake.  It  was 
not  deep,  but,  if  she  chose  to  lie  down  in  it,  would  an- 
swer her  purpose !  One  who  really  wishes  to  die,  can 
always  do  it.  The  thought  of  suicide,  which  had  tempted 
Julien  so  violently  a  few  days  before,  filled  her  mind  with 
a  frightful  tranquillity. 

*'  Nobody  on  earth  cares  for  me  except  him,"  she  said 
to  herself;  "  and,  as  I  cannot  be  his,  I  owe  no  obligations 
to  any  one  else.  An  infernal  hatred  seized  and  stran- 
gled me  in  the  very  bloom  of  my  life,  —  in  the  very  bloom 
of  my  happiness.  Not  satisfied  with  robbing  me  of  my 
love  and  my  liberty,  they  want  to  rob  me  of  my  honor  as 
well.  Marcel  said  so  ;  I  must  be  supposed  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  this  odious  old  man.  Ah  !  if  Julien  knew  that, 
vvhat  a  horror  he  would  feel  of  the  comfort  which  his 
mother  is  enjoying  !  And  if  she  should  suspect  it  herself! 
—  They  shall  never  know  it :  I  will  make  that  sure  ;  my 
death  shall  appear  to  be  an  accident.  When  I  am  out 
of  the  way,  there  will  be  no  excuse  for  changing  the  con- 
tract. Julien  will  be  rich  and  honored,  and  nobody  will 
ever  guess  at  what  a  cost." 

Then  she  remembered,  once  more,  that  it  rested  with 


ANTONIA,  223 

Julien  and  herself  to  break  all  these  chains,  and  marry  in 
spite  of  poverty. 

*'  Perhaps  he  would  be  happier  so,"  she  said  ;  "  per- 
haps my  sacrificing  myself  will  be  only  a  misfortune  to 
him.  But  who  can  tell  how  far  M.  Antoine's  hate  would 
carry  him  !  An  irritable  lunatic  is  capable  of  anything. 
He  might  have  him  assassinated.  Has  he  not  secret 
agents,  spies,  brigands,  at  his  service  ?  " 

Bewildered,  she  walked  about  the  little  lake,  as  if  im- 
patiently waiting  the  hour  of  her  death.  Then,  remem- 
bering that  she  was  to  see  Julien  again,  a  wild  longing  for 
life  seized  her,  and  her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  break. 
IShe  felt  no  remorse,  and  not  even  a  conscientious  scruple 
at  violating  an  engagement  forced  from  her  by  the  most 
cruel  moral  violence. 

'•  Oue  who  is  going  to  die,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  has 
a  right  to  protest,  before  God,  against  the  iniquity  of  her 
tormentors." 

A  violent  reaction,  like  the  ebullition  of  a  quiet  lake 
below  which  a  volcano  has  suddenly  broken  out,  or  the 
sudden  flashing  up  of  an  expiring  flame,  transformed  he»- 
sweet,  yielding  nature,  and  gave  her,  for  the  moment,  ex- 
traordinary strength. 

She  saw  M.  Antoine  approaching  with  Marcel,  and  sat 
down  mechanically  upon  a  stone  bench,  to  receive  them. 
It  was  there  that  she  had  sat  with  the  old  man  three  months 
before,  when  he  had  made  her  the  strange  and  ridiculous 
proposition  whose  rejection  had  cost  her  so  dear. 

As  on  that  day,  she  heard  a  rustling  among  the  leaves, 
and  saw  the  sparrow  that  Julien  had  tamed  fluttering  its 
wings,  and  seeming  to  hesitate  whether  to  perch  on  her 
shoulder.  The  little  creature  had  become  rather  wild 
again.  When  Julien  moved  from  the  pavilion,  it  was 
nowhere  in  sight,  and  he  had  left  it,  hoping  that  Julie, 
whose  long  absence  he  had  not  foreseen,  would  be  pleased 
to  find  it  there.  Since  her  return,  she  had  seen  it  several 
times,  not  very  far  off*,  friendly,  and  yet  mistrustful,  but 
had  tried  in  vain  to  coax  it  to  come  nearer.  This  time 
it  allowed  itself  to  be  caught,  and  she  was  holding  it  in 
her  hand  when  M.  Antoine  joined  her. 


224 


ANTONIA. 


She  smiled,  and  bade  him  good-day  with  a  v/'ld  expres* 
sion,  and  he  addressed  her  without  knowing  what  he 
said ;  for,  in  spite  of  his  tyrannical  disposition,  he  could 
not  conquer  his  bashfulness  at  first  meeting  any  one.  After 
his  moment  of  incorrigible  stammering,  he  could  find 
nothing  better  to  say  than  this  : 

''  Well,  you  still  have  your  tame  sparrow,  I  see?" 

"  It  is  Julien's  sparrow,  and  I  love  it,"  replied  Julie. 
"  Do  you  want  to  kill  it?     Here  it  is." 

The  way  in  which  she  said  this,  her  death-like  pale- 
ness, and  the  sort  of  fierce  indifference  with  which  she 
held  out  the  poor  little  bird,  all  warm  with  her  kisses, 
made  a  great  impression  upon  M.  Antoine.  He  looked 
at  Marcel,  as  if  to  ask,  "  Is  she  crazy?"  and  instead  of 
twisting  the  sparrow's  neck,  as  he  would  have  readily 
done  three  months  before,  he  pushed  it  away,  saying, 
awkwardly,  — 

"  No  matter  !  keep  it.     It  will  not  do  any  harm." 

"  You  are  so  kind  !  "  said  Julie,  in  the  same  dry,  fever- 
ish way.  "  You  have  come  to  receive  my  thanks,  have 
you  not  ?  You  are  aware  that  I  accept  everything  ;  that 
I  am  very  happy ;  that  I  no  longer  love  anything  nor  any- 
body !  that  you  have  done  me  a  very  great  service,  and 
can  say  to  God  every  night, '  I  have  been  good  and  great, 
as  You  are  Yourself.'  " 

M.  Antoine  stood  with  his  mouth  open ;  too  subtle  to 
believe  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  meant  what  she  said,  and 
yet  too  coarse  to  understand  her,  he  was  uncertain 
whether  she  intended  to  thank  him  or  to  laugh  at  him. 

"  She  defies  me  to  my  face,"  he  said  aside  to  Marcel ; 
"  you  rascal,  you  have  fooled  me  !  " 

*'  No,  uncle,"  answered  Marcel,  aloud  ;  "  the  countess 
thanks  you.  But  she  is  very  ill,  as  you  can  see.  Do  not 
require  her  to  talk  any  longer." 

Marcel  had  calculated  that  the  alteration  in  Julie's  ap- 
pearance would  make  an  impression  upon  M.  Antoine,  — 
and  it  did  make  a  vivid  one.  He  gazed  at  her  with  a 
strange  expression,  at  once  stupid,  cruel,  and  timid,  and 
said  to  himself,  with  a  joy  not  unmingled  with  terror, 
"  That  is  my  doing." 


ANTONIA. 


225 


"  Madam,"  he  said,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  "  I  said 
I  would  be  revenged  on  you  ;  that  I  would  make  you  ask 
my  pardon  for  your  ofFeuces.  Are  you  willing  to  end 
the  whole  matter  by  confessing  that  you  were  in  the 
wrong  ?     That  is  all  I  require." 

"  What  wrong  have  I  done?"  said  Julie  ;  "  explain  it 
to  me,  so  that  I  may  confess  it." 

Antoine  was  very  much  at  a  loss  for  an  answer ;  and, 
as  always  happened  with  him  when  he  could  find  nothing 
sensible  to  say,  his  anger,  —  which  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten, —  suddenly  revived. 

"  Ah !  You  think  you  have  done  nothing  to  offend 
me  ! "  he  said  ;  "  very  well,  mordi  I  You  must  ask  my 
pardon  fairly  and  squarely,  or  I  will  have  satisfaction  out 
of  Julien." 

"  Must  I  ask  your  pardon  on  my  knees?"  asked  Julie, 
with  a  sort  of  sorrowful  haughtiness  in  her  tone. 

"Well,  what  if  I  do  require  it?"  answered  the  old 
man,  dizzy  with  anger,  and  still  thinking  himself  defied. 

"  So  be  it,  —  have  your  will ! "  said  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
—  and  she  knelt  before  him. 

This  was  the  crowning  act  of  her  martyrdom,  —  the 
public  expiation  extorted  from  the  innocent  victim,  as  he 
stands  with  halter  on  neck  and  torch  in  hand,  before 
mounting  the  pile.  In  this  moment  of  sublime  self- 
immolation  her  troubled  soul  suddenly  became  calm,  — 
her  countenance  was  transfigured,  —  she  smiled  the 
ecstatic  smile  of  a  saint,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  an 
ineffable  sweetness,  as  if  heaven  had  opened  and  was 
reflected  there. 

Antoine  could  not  understand  this  sudden  change,  and 
it  startled  him.  His  anger  ceased,  —  not  because  his 
heart  was  softened,  but  under  the  influence  of  a  feeling 
of  superstitious  terror. 

''  Very  good,"  he  said,  "  I  am  satisfied,  and  I  pardon 
Julien.     Adieu ! " 

He  turned  and  fled. 

Marcel  paused  for  a  moment  to  say  a  few  encouraging 
words  to  Julie,  —  which  she  did  not  hear,  or  did  not  try 
to  understand,  —  and  then  hastened  after  M.  Antoine. 
*5 


226  ANTONIA, 

"  Now,  my  good  uncle,"  he  said,  in  a  bolder  and 
sharper  tone  than  he  had  yet  assumed  to  him,  "you  ought 
really  to  be  satisfied ;  you  have  killed  Madam  d'Es- 
trelle !  " 

"  Killed  her?"  said  uncle  Antoine,  turning  short  upon 
him.     "What  piece  of  stupidity  is  that? " 

"  The  stupidity  would  be  in  thinking  her  joy  and  grat- 
itude sincere.  You  cannot  be  such  a  fool.  That  woman 
is  desperate  ;  she  is  dying  of  sorrow." 

"  You  lie  !  you  are  all  wrong,  I  tell  you.  She  is  still 
angry,  and  the  annoyances  I  have  caused  her  to  suffer 
of  late  have  made  her  ill  with  vexation.  But  she  is 
satisfied,  at  last,  that  it  was  all  for  the  best ;  she 
pulls  at  the  bit,  but  she  knows  I  am  saving  her  in  spite 
of  herself." 

"  You  are  saving  her  from  the  chances  of  the  future,  — 
that  is  perfectly  true ;  and  you  are  taking  the  surest  way 
to  do  it,  —  by  depriving  her  of  life." 

"  Pshaw  !  That's  another  subterfuge  !  She  caught 
cold  spending  the  nights  in  the  garden  with  her  lover ; 
and  she  found  it  extremely  tiresome  in  the  convent  of 
Chaillot,  and  still  more  so  in  that  old  barrack  at  Nan- 
terra,  where  she  was  absolutely  alone.  You  see  she 
sought  in  vain  to  conceal  herself,  —  I  know  every  place 
she  has  been  in.  I  have  not  once  lost  track  of  her. 
You  can't  cheat  me  !  I  saw  the  convent  physician  ;  he 
told  me  that  she  was  inclined  to  melancholy  by  her  tem- 
perament, and  had  no  serious  ailment.  I  saw  her  doctor 
in  Paris,  and  he  said  he  could  not  understand  anything 
about  her  illness.  The  devil !  if  it  had  been  anything 
serious  he  would  have  known  what  it  was  well  enough. 
For  my  part,  I  know  what  it  is :  she  has  had  a  disap- 
pointment. That  doesn't  kill  people,  and  I  guarantee 
that  she  is  going  to  get  well." 

''  And  I  guarantee,"  said  Marcel,  "  that  if  she  is  left 
to  the  despair  into  which  you  have  plunged  her  for  an- 
other week,  she  will  be  lost  beyond  recovery." 

"  Pho !  Then  she  is  very  much  in  love  with  the 
dauber  ?     And  is  he  thinking  about  her  too  ?  " 

"  Julien  is  as  ill  as  she,  and  in  a  conditiouof  mind  quite 


ANTONIA.  227 

as  alarmin*,'.  I  took  pains  to  satisfy  myself  upon  this 
point,  and  succeeded  in  doing  so  with  a  great  deal  of 
difficulty,  for  he  is  not  a  man  to  complain.  As  for  her,  ' 
have  not  been  able  to  make  her  speak  a  single  word  fo. 
two  months.  To-day,  I  undertook  to  push  her  to  thA 
last  extremity  ;  —  I  succeeded,  and  from  this  day  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  as  to  my  own  course." 

"  Your  course  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

'^  To  destroy  a  couple  of  papers  that  I  have  in  my 
pocket,  —  the  release  with  which  you  intrusted  me  for 
Madam  d'Estrelle,  and  her  promise  never  to  see  Julieu 
again,  —  which  I  have  never  delivered  to  you.  You  both 
of  you  put  yourselves  into  my  hands  when  you  authorized 
me  to  exchange  these  reciprocal  obligations.  I  shall  place 
you  on  an  equal  footing  by  destroying  them  both.  Then 
the  whole  affair  must  be  begun  over  again,  and,  as  I  am 
aware  of  the  intentions  of  both  parties,  I  declare  to  you 
that  Madam  d'Estrelle  will  accept  nothing  from  you,  and 
that  you  may  take  possession  of  all  her  property  at  once 
Up  to  this  time,  she  has  followed  my  advice  implicitl}'  ; 
and,  as  I  don't  wish  to  see  her  die,  1  shall  advise  her  to 
retract  all  that  she  has  thus  far  agreed  to." 

"  Why,  you  abominable  scoundrel !  "  cried  M.  Antoine, 
stopping  short  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  speaking  in 
a  loud  voice.  ''  I  don't  know  why  I  don't  break  my  stick 
over  your  shoulder !  " 

"  A  scoundrel,  when  I  return  you  all  your  money,  and 
reserve  to  my  client  only  the  right  of  living  in  poverty? 
If  that  is  so,  go  and  bring  a  suit  against  me,  carry  the 
affair  into  court,  and  cover  yourself  with  ridicule  and 
disgrace ! " 

"  But,  Julieu  !  I  have  made  Julien  rich,  you  rascal. 
I  suspected  as  much  all  along !  You  have  extorted  from 
me  —  " 

"Nothing  at  all!  Julien  has  been  seriously  ill  for 
several  days,  and  is  so  still.  I  hinted  to  his  mother  the 
true  state  of  the  case,  and  she  answered,  'Give  all  the 
property  back  to  M.  Antoine,  and  let  Julie  be  restored  to 
us.'     You  see,  therefore,  that  you  do  not  lose  one  penny, 


228  ANTONIA, 

You  will  recover  principal  and  interest,  and  we  shall  be 
at  liberty  to  live  as  we  choose,  without  being  bound  hy 
any  stipulation,  legal  or  private." 

''  Why,  you  miserable  wretch,  you  are  completely 
backing  out !  I  thought  you  were  a  reasonable  man. 
You  took  my  view  of  the  matter  entirely ;  you  disap- 
proved of  the  marriage,  and  were  helping  me  establish 
them  comfortably." 

^'  Yes,  until  I  saw  that  this  comfort  was  going  to  carry 
them  straight  into  their  graves." 

"  They  are  a  parcel  of  fools." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  they  are :  love  is  nothing  but  foolishness  ; 
but  when  it  is  incurable,  we  must  yield  to  it ;  for  my 
part,  I  yield." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  M.  Antoine,  pounding  his  three- 
cornered  hat  down  over  his  eyes  with  a  desperate  blow 
of  the  fist.  "  Go  and  order  that  lady  to  clear  out  of  her 
house,  —  that  is,  out  of  my  house,  —  this  instant.  I 
shall  go  to  Sevres,  and  turn  the  others  out  myself.  If  every 
one  of  them  is  not  in  the  street  within  two  hours,  I'll 
send  sheriffs'  officers,  policemen  —  I'll  set  the  buildings 
onfire  — I'll  — " 

By  this  time  he  was  running  so  fast  that  his  foolish 
threats  could  no  longer  be  heard.  Leaving  Marcel  in  the 
street,  he  rushed  into  his  house,  a  capital  caricature,  al- 
though he  did  not  know  it,  of  Orestes  pursued  by  the 
furies.  Marcel  followed  quietly,  without  allowing  him- 
self to  be  alarmed,  and  forced  his  way  in,  although  orders 
had  been  already  given  that  the  master  was  not  at 
home.  He  had  resolved  to  fight  his  way  in,  had  it  been 
necessary. 

''  You  are  going  to  Sevres,  are  you  ?  "  he  began  ;  "  I'll 
go  with  you." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  uncle  Antoine,  gloomily. 
" Have  you  notified  Madam  Julie  to  vacate  my  hotel?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Marcel,  who  saw  that  the  old 
man  was  completely  beside  himself,  and  had  no  idea  how 
short  a  time  had  elapsed  since  their  altercation  in  the 
street. 

"  Is  she  packing  up .?     Will  she  carry  off —  ?  " 


ANTONIA. 


229 


"  Nothing,"  said  Marcel ;  "  she  leaves  everything. 
Are  we  ^^oing  to  Sevres  ?     Have  you  ordered  a  coach  ?  *' 

*'  My  covered  wagon  and  work-horse  will  go  faster. 
They  are  harnessing." 

He  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  a  table,  and  remained 
plunged  in  his  own  reflections.  Marcel,  who  had  deter- 
mined not  to  lose  sight  of  him,  sat  down  opposite ;  he 
feared  for  his  reason,  and  was  also  apprehensive  that  his 
rage  would  suggest  some  diabolical  trick  to  him  by  which 
his  friends  would  be  victimized.  When  they  started,  it 
was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Marcel  was  the  first 
to  break  the  silence. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  at  Sevres? "  he  said. 

"  You  will  see,"  answered  M.  Antoine. 

After  quarter  of  an  hour,  Marcel  spoke  again : 

"  It  will  do  no  good  for  you  to  go  there.  The  papers 
are  at  my  office.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to  destroy  them, 
and  I  give  you  notice  that  I  will  not  permit  you  to  make 
an  absurd  scene  with  my  aunt.  She  is  in  trouble,  and 
Julien  is  very  ill,  as  I  told  you." 

"  And  you  lied  like  a  dog !  "  replied  M.  Antoine  ;  "  see 
there ! " 

He  pointed  to  a  hired  cabriolet  that  was  just  passing 
them.  In  it  sat  Julien,  pale  and  haggard,  darkly  frown- 
ing, and  with  an  abstracted  but  determined  expression. 
He  had  received  Julie's  note,  had  forced  himself  to  rise, 
and,  desiring  to  question  Marcel  before  keeping  his 
appointment,  was  on  his  way  to  Paris  in  good  season. 

'•If  it  is  with  him  that  you  wish  to  speak,"  said  Mar- 
cel, "let  us  turn  back.  I  wager  anything  that  he  is 
going  to  my  house." 

"  I  don't  want  to  speak  to  him,"  answered  M.  Antoine 
ironically,  "  since  he  is  dying." 

"  Did  you  think  he  looked  well?"  asked  Marcel. 

M.  Antoine  relapsed  into  his  sinister  silence,  and  they 
drove  on  in  the  direction  of  Sevres.  Did  he  really  know 
what  he  meant  to  do  there  ?  To  confess  the  truth,  he 
had  not  the  least  idea.  His  mind  was  in  a  terribly 
confused   state,  and   he  was   thinkin'^   about  this  fact^ 


230 


ANTONIA. 


and  this  alone,  for  he  really  began  to  be  alarmed  about 
himself. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought,  "  I  shall  be  the  sickest  of  the 
three,  if  I  don't  take  care.  Anger  is  a  good  thing,  it 
keeps  a  man  alive,  and  strengthens  him  in  his  old  age ; 
an  old  man  who  allows  others  to  manage  him  is  done 
for.  Still,  one  must  not  indulge  in  too  much  at  a  time  ; 
I  must  be  more  quiet.'* 

And  upon  this,  with  a  power  of  will  that  would  have 
made  him  a  remarkable  man,  if  he  had  possessed  better 
tendencies,  or  had  been  better  directed  in  life,  he  resolved 
to  take  a  nap,  and  actually  slept  quietly  until  the  wagon 
began  to  rumble  over  the  pavements  of  Sevres. 

Marcel  had  been  tempted  to  try  and  turn  back  without 
his  uncle's  knowing  it,  but  it  was  a  question  whether 
M.  Antoine's  servant  would  obey  him  ;  and,  in  any  event, 
since  Julien  was  out  of  the  way,  was  it  not  the  best  plan 
to  wait  and  see  what  M.  Antoine  would  have  to  say  to 
Madam  Thierry?  He  was  a  good  deal  afraid  of  her. 
Would  he  dare  tell  her  to  her  face  that  he  took  back  all 
he  had  given  ? 

Sleep  restored  M.  Antoine  to  himself,  —  that  is,  to  his 
chronic  condition  of  deliberate  aversions,  jealous  self-love, 
and  brooding  resentment.  They  found  Madam  Thierry 
standing  before  a  beautiful  portrait  of  her  husband,  as 
if  she  had  hoped,  by  gazing  upon  the  serene  and  cheer- 
ful countenance,  to  inspire  herself  with  the  confidence  in 
the  future  that  had  always  characterized  that  charming 
man.  Marcel  had  but  just  time  to  step  in  first,  and 
warn  her  briefly : 

''  M.  Antoine  is  close  at  my  heels,"  he  said.  "  He  is 
furious ;  but,  with  patience  and  firmness,  you  may  still 
be  able  to  save  everything." 

"  Mon  Dieu  I    What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  that  you  resign  all  his  gifts,  but  that  you 
are  grateful  to  him  for  them.  Julie  adores  Julien. 
Everything  depends  on  my  uncle,  —  he  is  coming." 

"  Shall  you  leave  me  alone  with  him?" 

"  Yes,  he  insists  upon  it :  but  I  will  stay  clo?e  by,  and 
be  ready  to  interpose,  if  necessary." 


ANT  ON  I  A.  231 

He  stepped  quickly  into  a  little  cabinet,  and,  leaving 
the  door  ajar,  sat  down  and  listened.  M.  Antoine  came 
into  the  drawing-room  by  the  other  door.  He  was  less 
timid  now  that  he  no  longer  felt  Marcel's  scrutinizing  eye 
fastened  upon  him. 

"  Your  servant.  Madam  Andre,"  he  said,  as  he  came 
in  ;  "  are  you  alone  ?  " 

Madam  Thierry  rose,  answered  that  she  was,  and 
politely  invited  him  to  sit  down. 

Her  face  also  was  greatly  altered.  She  had  been 
watching  with  her  son  for  several  nights ;  and  now  that 
he  had  risen  and  departed  in  spite  of  her  remonstrances, 
she  felt  that  the  great  crisis  of  his  life  drama  was  come. 

"  Is  your  son  ill?"  asked  M.  Antoine. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"Seriously?" 

"  God  grant  that  he  will  recover.** 

"Isheinbed?" 

"  He  has  just  got  up." 

"Could  I  see  him?" 

"  He  has  gone  out,  monsieur." 

"  Then  he  is  not  so  very  ill?" 

"  He  was  extremely  so  until  last  night ;  since  then  he 
has  been  a  little  better." 

"  What  was  the  matter?  " 

"  Fever  and  delirium." 

"  A  sunstroke  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur." 

"  Trouble,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur ;  great  trouble.** 

"  Because  he  is  in  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  But  it  is  a  silly  business,  to  be  in  love,  when  he 
might  be  rich." 

"  That  cannot  be  reasoned  about,  monsieur." 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  came  to  make  you  a  proposi- 
tion?" 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

"  If  you  will  send  your  son  to  America,  I  will  furnish 
him  with  a  handsome  capital,  I  will  direct  his  operations, 


233 


ANTONIA. 


and  in  ten  years  he  will  come  honoie  with  an  income  of 
thirty  thousand  francs." 

"On  what  conditions,  monsieur?" 

"  That  he  bids  farewell  to  a  certain  lady  of  our  ac- 
quaintance ;  nothing  more  than  that." 

"  And  if  he  refuses?" 

"  If  he  refuses,  —  and  that  is  what  I  expect,  for  I 
have  been  advised  that  it  is  likely,  —  in  that  event  an 
agreement  entered  into  between  a  certain  lady  and  my- 
self respecting  him  becomes  null  and  void." 

"  Very  good,  monsieur  ;  I  understand.  You  have  the 
right  to  do  what  you  choose  with  your  own,  and  we 
submit." 

''  But  you  might  resist,  if  you  chose.  You  were  not 
consulted  about  accepting  my  gifts ;  you  did  not  know 
cf  the  conditions  agreed  upon  by  Madam  d'Estrelle 
and  myself.  There  is  sufficient  ground  for  a  lawsuit, 
and  I  shall  be  very  likely  to  lose  it,  if  my  opponents  act 
in  bad  faith." 

"If  by  your  opponents  you  mean  my  son  and  myself, 
make  yourself  perfectly  easy,  monsieur.  We  surrender 
your  benefactions  without  any  hesitation  whatever." 

"  Ah,  yes,  my  benefactions  !  They  are  burdensome  to 
you  ;  you  are  ashamed  of  them." 

"  As  long  as  we  did  not  know  that  they  restrained  the 
liberty  of  one  who  is  dear  to  us,  we  were  not  ashamed 
of  them;  and  even, — you  may  be  assured,"  continued 
Madam  Thierry,  making  a  great  effort  for  her  son's  sake, 
"  we  were  grateful  to  you  ;  —  if  we  had  been  certain  that 
we  owed  this  generosity  to  your  solicitude  for  our  welfare, 
we  should  have  blessed  your  name.  But  whatever  caused 
your  kindness,  and  however  short  its  duration,  it  has 
made  us  happy,  notwithstanding  our  troubles  and  anx- 
ieties, to  see  this  house  again,  and  to  find  ourselves  in  the 
midst  of  our  dearest  recollections.  You  order  us  to 
leave  it,  and  we  shall  obey ;  but  I  want  to  thank  you  for 
myself  —  " 

"  You,  madam ! "  said  Antoine,  looking  steadily  at  her. 

"  Yes,  —  to  thank  you  for  the  two  months  that  you 
have  allowed  us  to  stay  here.     The  thought  of  never  re- 


ANT  ON  I  A. 


233 


turning  to  iny  home  was  always  distressing  to  me : 
henceforth  it  will  be  less  so ;  I  shall  remember  this 
short  visit  as  a  last  beautiful  dream  casting  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  over  my  life,  and  which  I  owe  to  you." 

Madam  Thierry  had  an  agreeable  voice  and  a  pecu- 
liarly refined  accent,  wliich  were  extremely  attractive. 
In  his  fits  of  anger,  M.  Antoine  was  in  the  habit  of  call- 
ing her  "The  fine-spoken  lady."  He  felt,  nevertheless, 
the  influence  of  this  sweet  voice,  still  fresh  and  pure, 
caressing  his  ear  with  kind  and  almost  reverential  words. 
He  did  not  understand  the  delicacy  of  her  sentiments, 
but  he  saw  that  she  seemed  humble  and  submissive  ;  and 
this  it  was  that  he  so  eagerly  craved. 

"  Come,  Madam  Andre,"  he  said,  in  the  gruff  manner 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  assume  when  his  anger  be- 
gan to  be  dissipated,  "  you  know  how  to  say  exactly  what 
you  want,  but  confess  that  in  your  heart  you  can't  abide 
me!" 

"  I  hate  nobody,  monsieur ;  but  you  oblige  me  to  con- 
fess that  I  am  afraid  of  you  !  " 

Nothing  could  have  been  shrewder  than  this  answer. 
To  inspire  fear  was,  according  to  M.  Antoine,  the  highest 
attribute  of  power.  Wonderfully  softened,  he  said,  in  a 
tone  that  was  almost  good-natured,  — 

"  And  what  the  devil  makes  you  so  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

Madam  Andre  possessed  the  penetration  peculiar  to 
women  who  have  lived  much  in  society,  and  the  tact  of  a 
mother  arguing  the  cause  of  her  child.  Seeing  how 
important  an  advantage  she  had  gained,  she  proceeded  to 
forget,  —  very  opportunely,  under  the  circumstances,  — 
that  she  was  sixty  years  old,  and  courageously  decided  to 
be  a  little  coquettish,  although  M.  Antoine  was  a  man 
with  whom  it  was  dangerous  to  be  too  condescending. 

*'  Brother,"  said  she,  "  it  was  your  fault  if  you  did  not 
retain  my  confidence.  I  do  not  reproach  you  with  having 
betrayed  it,  for  your  intentions  were  good,  and  it  was  I 
who  did  not  understand  them.  I  was  very  young,  and 
my  unhappy  position  made  me  peculiarly  sensitive.  Ut- 
terly inexperienced,  I  thought  you  were  trying  to  persuade 
me  to  abandon  Andre,  when  —  " 


234 


ANTONIA, 


"When,  in  reality,  I  was  telling  you  in  good  faith  to 
save  him." 

"  Yes,  you  were  acting  out  of  affection  for  him.  I  waa 
blind,  obstinate,  —  whatever  you  choose  ;  but  you  must 
confess  that  it  was  your  place  to  overlook  my  folly.  You 
ought  to  have  treated  me  like  the  child  that  I  was,  and  to 
have  become  my  brother  again,  as  before." 

"You  want  me  to  confess  all  that,  do  you?  But  you 
always  treated  me  haughtily  afterwards  —  " 

"Why  didn't  you  laugh  at  my  haughtiness?  Why 
didn't  you  take  me  by  the  hand,  and  say,  '  Sister,  you  are 
a  little  goose.  Embrace  me,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones/ 
That's  what  you  ought  to  have  done." 

"  What !     You  think  I  ought  —  " 

"  The  mosi  reasonable  is  under  an  obligation  to  be  the 
most  generous." 

"  And  would  you  like  matters  arranged  on  that  footinc; 
now?" 

"  It  is  never  too  late  to  understand  each  other,  and  to 
bring  back  kind  feelings  that  should  never  have  been  cast 
aside." 

"Well,  then,  are  you  sorry  now  to  think  that  you 
wounded  me?" 

"  I  am  sorry,  and  I  ask  your  pardon.  Will  you  grant 
it?" 

"Ah,  diantre  !  That  is  a  different  thing,  my  dear 
lady  I  You  are  in  want  of  me  now ;  —  you  want  my 
help ! " 

"  Yes,  M.  Antoine,  I  do.  My  son  is  crazy  with  grief. 
Marry  him  to  the  woman  he  loves." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  again  !  "  cried  M.  Antoine,  flash- 
ing out  in  another  burst  of  rage. 

"  It  is  where  we  began,"  answered  Madam  Thierry ; 
"  I  have  asked  but  one  thing  of  you  since  you  came  here, 
—  freedom  of  action  for  Madam  d'Estrelle." 

"  Yes,  and  plenty  of  money  besides,  for  everybody." 

"  No,  no  money  ;  nothing  at  all !  I  told  you  we  w^ere 
ready  to  resign  your  property.  If  you  will  allow  us  to 
rent  this  house  of  you,  we  will  live  here,  and  pay  you  the 
rent,  with  pleasure.     If  you  refuse,  we  must  submit  ta 


ANTONIA. 


235 


your  will.  But  let  U8  depart  without  anger,  and  for- 
give us  for  being  happy ;  for,  if  our  hearts  are  only  sat- 
isfied with  each  other,  and  if  we  can  only  feel  that  our 
happiness  docs  not  annoy  you,  we  shall  be  so  in  spite  of 
our  trials  and  privations." 

M.  Antoine  was  conquered.  Ashamed,  he  caught  at 
a  last  twi":  of  arjmment : 

*'  How  proud  you  are  ! "  he  said  ;  "  it  is  always  the 
same  thing,  and  you  are  all  alike !  You  haye  a  contempt 
for  the  rich  man's  money  !  You  despise  it !  '  Take  it 
back  again,*  you  say ;  '  we  don't  want  any  of  it ;  we 
have  no  need  of  it ;  we  can  live  on  the  air  !  What  is 
money,  after  all  ?  Mere  pebbles,  to  an  intelligent  mind  ! ' 
And  yet,  my  dear  madam,  money  honestly  earned  by  a 
man  who  began  life  with  nothing  but  his  wits,  ought  to 
be  of  some  account !  It  is  the  honey  of  a  working  bee  ; 
it  is  a  tropical  flower,  made  to  bloom  in  an  artificial  cli- 
mate by  the  patience  and  skill  of  the  master  gardener. 
And  you  think  it  is  worth  nothing?  With  ail  his  genius, 
my  poor  brother  knew  no  better  than  to  spend  what  he 
worked  like  a  drudge  to  obtain.  I  have  a  better  way  of 
using  my  money :  I  keep  it ;  I  increase  it  every  day, 
and  I  make  people  happy  with  it  when  I  choose." 

"  But  what  are  you  coming  at,  M.  Antoine  ?  "  asked 
Madam  Thierry,  to  whom  Marcel,  through  the  door  be- 
hind the  horticulturist,  was  making  signs  which  she  did 
not  understand. 

"  This  is  what  I  am  coming  at :  that  you  are  not  so 
good  a  mother  as  you  imagine.  You  are  very  willing  to 
sacrifice  everything  else  for  your  son,  except  your  con- 
tempt for  the  money  I  have  given  you.  I  believe  you 
think  I  stole  my  fortune  ;  I  believe  you  think  my  money 
has  a  bad  smell." 

''  But  for  heaven's  sake  why  do  you  say  that?  What 
makes  you  suppose  that  I  esteem  you  less  than  you  de- 
serve ?  ** 

"  Because  if  you  really  were  a  good  motjber,  instead  of 
talking  such  nonsense  as  that,  you  would  say,  '  Brother, 
we  are  unfortunate,  and  you  are  rich  ;  you  can  save  us. 
We  are  a  little  foolish  for  wishing  to  pay  court  to  Madam 


236  ANTONIA. 

d*Esirelle,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  leave  us 
without  bread.  Pardon  us  altogether,  and  once  for  all ! 
Let  us  have  the  privilege  of  loving  and  of  eating  too  ;  if 
your  goodness  humiliates  us,  so  much  the  worse  for  us. 
We  know  that  you  are  a  great  man,  —  a  magnificent 
man  ;  you  will  take  pity  on  us,  and  grant  all  that  we  ask  !  * 
There,  Madam  Andre,  that  is  what  you  would  say,  — 
that  is  what  you  would  beg  on  your  kuces,  if  necessary, 
if  you  were  really  a  good  mother,  instead  of  being  a  lady 
of  rank." 

Madam  Thierry  was  mute  with  astonishment.  She 
looked  at  Marcel,  who,  without  being  seen  by  M,  An- 
toine,  was  energetically  telegraphing  to  her,  by  gesture 
and  pantomime,  to  yield  to  the  old  capitalist's  fancy.  The 
poor  lady  felt  a  most  painful  reluctance,  yet  she  did  not 
hesitate ;  she  glided  down  from  her  chair  to  her  footstool, 
and  kneeling  there,  took  both  of  M.  Antoine's  hands. 

^^  You  are  right,  brother,"  she  said,  "  I  ought  to  do  as 
you  say.  I  yield.  Be  the  noblest  of  men  ;  pardon  all ; 
give  us  all !  " 

*'  You  have  done  it  at  last,  then  !  And  just  in  time  !  " 
cried  M.  Antoine,  raising  her ;  "  and  when  people  are 
reconciled  they  embrace,  don't  they?  " 

Madam  Thierry  embraced  M.  Antoine,  and  Marcel  en- 
tered Justin  season  to  applaud. 

"  There,  now,  Mr.  Pettifogger,"  said  the  amateur  gar- 
dener, "  a  pretty  figure  you  cut !  A  fine  plan  of  opposi- 
tion you  had  !  You  were  going  to  break  and  smash  up 
everything,  to  fling  your  client  and  your  family  into  pov- 
erty, and  all  for  the  sake  of  not  surrendering  to  a  rich  man, 
—  a  powerful  man,  —  the  natural  enemy  of  poor  people, 
and  of  those  who  don't  know  how  to  make  money !  A  fine 
lawyer  you  are,  upon  my  word !  a  lawyer  who  can  secure 
your  clients  nothing  but  love  and  dry  bread  !  Luckily, 
the  women  have  more  sense.  Here  are  two  of  them  who 
have  been  wishing  me  at  the  devil,  and  both  of  them 
have  gone  down  on  their  knees  to  me  this  very  evening ! 
Well,  sister,  this  closes  the  whole  matter.  I  will  never 
recall  it  to  your  mind,  for  I  am  a  generous  man  ;  and, 
when  people  satisfy  me,  I   know  how  to  reward  them. 


ANTONIA. 


237 


Your  son  shall  marry  the  pretty  countess.  I  must  turn 
her  out  of  her  house  to  keep  people  from  talking,  but 
I  will  give  Julien  the  hotel  d'Estrelle,  and  an  ineomo 
of  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  as  a  marriage  portion. 
That's  the  way  I  do  things  !  I  know  very  well  that  you 
have  been  acting  to-day  out  of  policy,  —  I  haven't  been 
fooled  as  to  that,  —  and  that  you  will  thank  me  to-morrow, 
once  for  all,  and  forget  everything.  But  no  matter  ;  you 
have  done  as  I  wished,  —  you  have  submitted,  and  I  ask 
no  more." 

"  We  will  give  you  a  great  deal  more,"  replied  Madam 
Thierry,  "  for  you  will  not  be  able  to  refuse  the  affection 
of  warm  and  sincere  hearts.  You  will  experience  a  hap- 
piness that  you  ought  to  have  known  before,  but  we  will 
try  and  make  up  for  lost  time." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  talk,"  said  M.  Antoine  ;  "  happiness 
is  in  being  your  own  master,  and  I  don't  want  any  one's 
help  to  make  me  that.  I  don't  like  brats  and  senti- 
mentality. I  never  was  meant  for  the  father  of  a  family  ; 
but,  if  I  had  been  born  a  king,  I  should  have  governed 
my  people  excellently.  To  command  has  always  been  a 
favorite  idea  of  mine ;  and  I  reign  over  the  kingdom  I 
have,  a  great  deal  better  than  plenty  of  monarchs,  who 
don't  know  what  they  are  about." 

In  spite  of  her  anxiety  as  to  what  might  be  the  reason 
of  Julien's  absence,  and  her  desire  to  send  Marcel  to  find 
him,  Madam  Thierry  felt  obliged  to  invite  M.  Antoine  to 
supper. 

''  Oh  !  "  he  said,  "  for  my  part,  my  supper  consists  of  a 
crust  of  hard  bread  and  a  glass  of  cheap  wine.  That  is 
my  way  ;  I  never  cared  much  for  eating." 

What  he  wanted  was  set  before  him,  and  when  he  had 
supped.  Marcel  hastened  his  departure. 

"  I  am  sure,"  he  said  to  his  aunt,  "  that  Julien  is  wait- 
ing for  me  at  my  house.  He  is  probably  impatient  be- 
cause I  do  not  return  ;  but  my  wife  will  try  and  make 
him  comfortable,  Julio  will  amuse  him,  and  if  he  should 
feel  worse,  you  can  depend  upon  it  he  will  be  well  cared 
for." 
Julien  was,  in  fact,  excessively  impatient,  notwitlistand- 


238  ANTONIA. 

ing  all  Madam  MarcePs  care  and  attention.  Feeling  very 
weak  when  he  reached  the  house,  he  had  attempted  to 
eat  a  little,  and  to  entertain  himself  with  the  prattle  of  his 
little  godson  ;  but  when  he  heard  the  clock  strike  eleven, 
and  saw  that  Marcel  did  not  return,  he  could  no  longer 
endure  his  mortal  suspense.  Saying  that  his  mother 
would  be  uneasy  if  he  did  not  return  by  midnight,  and 
promising  to  take  a  carriage  to  Sevres,  he  departed.  In 
fact,  he  proceeded  on  foot,  and  by  a  roundabout  way,  to  the 
rue  de  Babylone  ;  he  thought  it  necessary  to  take  every 
precaution  in  order  to  guard  against  being  seen  and  fol- 
lowed, as  before,  by  some  of  M.  Antoine's  agents.  He 
arrived,  however,  safely,  and  without  attracting  any  ob- 
servation. M.  Antoine  had  maintained  his  espionage 
upon  Julie  long  enough  to  be  quite  certain  that  she  and 
Julien  never  met,  and  then  had  given  it  up. 

As  it  struck  twelve,  Julien  entered  the  pavilion  and 
found  Julie  there  ;  he  had  been  waiting  outside  the  door, 
and  she  inside  of  it,  for  quarter  of  an  hour. 

At  this  very  moment.  Marcel,  M.  Antoine,  and  Madam 
Thierry  were  entering  Paris  on  their  return  from  Sevres. 
M.  Antoine's  frugal  supper,  and  his  not  very  entertaining 
conversation,  had  exhausted  the  widow's  patience.  She 
was  anxious  about  her  son,  and  insisted  upon  having  a 
seat  in  the  wagon,  so  that  she  might  join  him  at  Marcel's 
house. 

Julien,  before  meeting  Julie,  had  armed  himself  with 
all  his  courage.  He  was  expecting  a  painful  explana- 
tion, and  had  sworn  to  himself  to  show  no  anger,  to 
utter  no  reproaches,  to  betray  no  weakness  ;  and  yet,  as 
he  opened  the  door,  his  hand  shook  :  overwhelmed  by  a 
sudden  passion  of  fury  and  despair,  he  hesitated,  and 
drew  back  ;  but,  on  seeing  him,  Julie  uttered  a  wild  cry 
of  joy,  threw  her  arras  about  his  neck,  and  pressed  him 
passionately  to  her  heart.  It  was  so  dark  that  neither 
of  them  could  see  how  changed  the  other  was.  Their 
burning  kisses  made  them  forget  the  fever  raging  in 
their  veins.  The  fever  of  love,  which  revivifies,  was 
victorious  over  that  which  destroys. 

Julien  was  the  first  to  recover  from  this  moment  of 


ANTONIA. 


339 


delirium.  Alarmed,  rather  than  intoxicated  bj  Julie*8 
caresses,  he  suddenly  repulsed  her. 

''If  you  still  love  me,"  he  said,  "how  can  you  consent 
to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Bah ! "  she  answered,  "  it  is  not,  perhaps,  for  so 
long." 

"  You  wrote  that  you  wanted  to  bid  me  an  eternal 
farewell !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  wrote  ;  I  was  out  of  my  senses* 
But  it  is  not  possible  for  those  who  love  as  we  do  to  part 
forever." 

''  It  is  true  then  that  you  are  going  away  ?  —  And  will 
you  come  back  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  if  I  can.  But  do  not  talk  about  that.  To- 
night is  our  own  ;  give  it  all  to  love." 

Amid  their  transports  of  happiness,  Julien  was  again 
seized  with  terror.  In  the  passionate  words  that  escaped 
Julie  there  was  a  mysterious  gloom,  —  a  sinister  fore- 
boding, which  seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  his  veins. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he  cried  suddenly. 
"  You  are  deceiving  me.  Either  you  are  going  away, 
or  you  think  you  are  going  to  die !  You  are  ill ;  I 
know  you  are ;  —  the  physicians  have  given  you  up, 
perhaps." 

"  No,  I  give  you  my  word  that  they  promise  to  cure 
me." 

"  Let  me  see  your  face !  I  cannot  see  you  ;  let  us  go 
out  from  here.  I  am  afraid  !  It  seems  to  me,  at  mo- 
ments, that  I  am  dreaming,  and  that  it  is  only  your  ghost 
I  am  holding  in  my  arms." 

He  carried  her  into  the  garden,  but  it  was  almost  as 
dark  there  as  in  the  pavilion. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  I  do  not  see  you ;  I  cannot  see  your 
face  at  all,"  cried  Julien,  devoured  with  anxiety.  "  Your 
arms  have  grown  thin,  —  you  are  wasted  away.  You 
are  like  a  shadow  ;  it  seems  to  me  that  your  feet  do  not 
touch  the  ground.  Tell  me ;  are  you  a  dream  ?  Am  I 
here,  close  to  you,  in  this  garden  where  we  have  been  so 
happy?     I  am  afraid  I  shall  go  mad  !  " 

They  approached  the  little  lake,  in  which  the  clear  moon- 


240 


ANTONIA. 


less  sky,  with  all  its  stars,  was  perfectly  mirrored,  and  there 
Julien  saw  that  Madam  d'Estrelle  was  pale ;  the  glirn^ 
mering  radiance  of  the  water  reflected  upon  her  face, 
made  her  seem  even  more  wan  than  she  really  was.  Her 
great,  hollow  eyes,  shining  in  the  night  with  a  glassy 
brightness,  showed  him  how  thin  she  had  become. 

"  You  are  dying  !  "  he  cried  ;  ''  I  am  sure  of  it !  That 
is  what  made  you  send  for  me.  Very  well,  Julie  ;  I  will 
never  leave  you  again.  If  I  must  lose  you,  I  will  re- 
ceive your  last  sigh,  and  I  will  die  too." 

"  Oh  no,  Julien,  you  cannot !  —  Your  mother  !  " 

"She  shall  die  with  us  then;  will  that  satisfy  you? 
She  wanted  to  die  when  she  lost  my  father ;  she  said 
BO,  in  spite  of  herself,  in  her  first  outbreak  of  sorrow, 
and  I  know  very  well  that  she  has  continued  to  live  only 
for  my  sake.  Since  we  three  have  only  one  soul,  we  will 
depart  together,  and  we  will  go  to  a  world  where  the 
purest  love  will  not  be  considered  a  crime.  There  must 
lae  such  a  world  for  those  who  cannot  understand  the  un- 
just prejudices  of  this.  Let  us  die,  Julie,  without  any 
remorse  or  vain  regret.  Give  me  your  breath,  —  your 
fever,  —  the  death  that  is  in  your  veins.  I  swear  that  I 
will  not  survive  you  !  " 

"  Ah  me ! "  cried  Julie,  who  could  not  repress  the 
passionate  cry  of  her  heart,  "  and  I  could  have  been 
well." 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  cried  Julien,  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  horror  ;  "  you  have  taken  poison  I  Tell  me, — 
have  you  ?     I  will  know." 

"  No,  no,  I  meant  nothing ! "  she  said,  drawing  him 
forward  with  a  sudden,  desperate  grasp,  that  startled 
him. 

Bending  over  the  edge  of  the  water,  she  had  seen  the 
vague  reflection  of  her  face  and  white  dress,  and  had  re- 
membered that  in  an  hour  she  would  lie  there,  stretched 
out,  motionless,  —  dead.  She  had  sworn  it!  In  expia- 
tion of  her  violated  oath,  she  must  die,  and  as  the 
price  of  Julien's  prosperity.  An  agonizing  fear  of  death 
had  made  her  tremble  and  draw  back. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of ?  "  he  asked.      "  What  did 


ANTONIA.  241 

you  see  down  there  in  the  water?  Wliat  arc  you  think- 
ing about  now?  And  why  did  you  start?  Stay,  —  I 
know  ;  you  mean  to  die,  now,  at  once,  as  soon  as  I  am 
gone  away.  But  you  must  not.  You  are  my  wife. 
Since  you  love  me  wholly,  you  are  mine.  I  do  not 
know  what  oath  you  have  taken,  nor  to  what  constraint 
you  have  been  subjected ;  but  I  am  your  lover,  your 
husband,  your  master ;  and  I  disallow  all  such  obliga- 
tions !  I  will  run  away  with  you  ;  rather,  I  will  carry 
you  away  with  me,  as  I  have  a  right  to  do.  I  will  not 
allow  you  to  die,  and  my  mother  shall  live  also,  and  give 
you  her  blessing.  I  have  strength  enough  to  protect 
you  both ;  no  matter  what  hardships  are  before  us,  we 
will  meet  them.  Do  not  hesitate  any  longer.  If  you 
are  not  strong  enough  to  walk,  I  will  carry  you.  Let 
us  go  at  once,  Julie.  The  time  has  come  when  you  must 
acknowledge  that  no  one  except  me  has  any  rights  over 
your  life." 

He  drew  her  away  in  the  direction  of  the  pavilion,  and 
as  they  again  approached  the  water,  the  struggle  between 
her  love  and  her  remorse  became  so  violent  that  she  gave 
a  cry  of  horror,  and  clung  to  him  with  all  her  strength. 

"  I  gave  my  word  of  honor  to  leave  you,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  broken  it.  And  I  am  bringing  your  mother 
to  poverty.    Can  you  take  away  that  reproach  from  me  ?  ** 

"You  are  frantic,"  said  Julien,  ''Since  you  have 
known  my  mother,  have  you  seen  her  in  want  ?  Will  any 
one  cut  my  right  arm  off  to  prevent  me  from  working  ?  If 
so,  I  will  work  with  my  left !  Now  I  understand  every- 
thing. This  was  the  revenge  that  M.  Antoine  threatened. 
I  ought  to  have  guessed  sooner  why  he  gave  us  my  father's 
house  !  Poor  Julie  !  You  have  sacrificed  yourself  for 
our  sake.  But  the  contract  is  void :  I  have  not  given 
my  consent ;  I  have  accepted  nothing  at  all ;  I  submitted, 
but  without  knowing  anything  of  the  circumstances. 
Do  not  tremble  so.  I  absolve  you  from  your  promise, 
and  woe  to  him  who  undertakes  to  remind  you  of  it.  If 
you  hesitate,  or  are  alarmed,  I  shall  think  you  are  regret- 
ting your  fortune,  and  have  less  courage  and  less  love 
than  I." 

16 


242  ANTONIA. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  what  I  was  so  afraid  oft  "  said  Julie ; 
*'  come,  let  us  go  !  But  where  ?  How  can  I  ever  find 
courage  to  go  to  your  mother,  and  say,  '  I  bring  you  only 
poverty  and  sorrow  ? '  " 

"  Julie,  if  you  doubt  my  mother,  you  no  longer  love 
us!" 

"  Let  us  go,  then,  and  find  her.  She  shall  decide  for 
me.     Take  me  away,  —  save  me  !  " 

Exhausted  by  so  many  emotions,  Julie's  strength  quite 
failed  ;  and,  as  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  Julien  saw  that 
she  had  fainted.  There  were  no  means  of  restoring  her 
in  the  pavilion  ;  he  carried  her  back  to  her  house  and  to 
her  own  room,  where  she  had  left  the  door  opening  upon 
the  garden  unfastened,  and  where  he  found  a  light  burn- 
ing. When  he  had  placed  Julie  upon  a  sofa,  she  quickly 
recovered  her  consciousness ;  but,  on  attempting  to  rise, 
she  fell  back, 

"  Ah,  my  friend !  "  she  said,  "  I  cannot  move.  Am  I 
going  to  die  ?  Is  it  too  late  for  you  to  save  me  ?  Hark ! 
There  is  some  one  knocking  at  the  street-door,  is  there 
not?" 

"  No,"  said  Julien,  who  had  heard  nothing. 

He  tried  to  inspire  her  with  a  confidence  that  was  be- 
ginning to  desert  his  own  mind,  when  they  were  both  of 
them  startled  by  a  violent  ringing  at  the  outer  door. 

*'  They  are  coming  after  me,  —  to  carry  me  ofi*,  per- 
haps ! "  cried  Julie,  bewildered  with  fear ;  "  they  will 
throw  me  into  a  convent !  The  marchioness,  —  M.  An- 
toine,  —  one  or  both  of  them  !  And  I  cannot  move  ! 
Carry  me  away,  Julien  !     Hide  me  ! " 

"  Wait,  wait !  "  said  Julien,  who  had  opened  an  inner 
door  to  listen  ;  "  it  is  Marcel ;  he  is  making  a  great  up- 
roar, and  calling  Camille.  Something  important  has 
happened,  and  he  wants  to  warn  you.  Open  the  door, 
and  see  him." 

"  I  cannot ! "  she  answered  in  despair,  after  a  vain 
effort. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  go,"  said  Julien,  resolutely  ;  "he 
may  just  as  well  see  me  here,  for  I  will  not  leave  the 
house  without  you." 


ANTONIA.  243 

He  hastened  to  the  outer  door,  where  Marcel  was  ring- 
ing at  a  furious  rate,  and,  before  any  of  the  servants 
had  time  to  rise  and  see  what  was  wanted,  Julien  ad- 
mitted Marcel  and  Madam  Thierry,  brought  them  in,  and 
closed  the  doors  again. 

"  Ah,  my  child,"  cried  Madam  Thierry,  "  I  was  sure 
that  we  should  find  you  here  !  Victory,  my  dear  Julien, 
my  poor  Julie !  Ah,  I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying ; 
you  must  get  well  now  ;  we  bring  you  happiness  !  *' 

When  Julie  learned  what  had  taken  place  at  Sevres, 
she  revived  like  a  dying  plant  in  a  shower  of  rain.  Ht^r 
nervous  excitement  passed  off  in  joyful  tears.  As  for 
Julien,  who  had  been  dangerously  ill  the  day  before,  and 
utterly  exhausted  that  very  morning,  he  was  like  a  paral- 
ytic, cured  by  a  fortunate  stroke  of  lightning,  who  sud- 
denly begins  to  walk  and  leap  again. 

After  an  hour  of  heartfelt  happiness  and  congratula- 
tions. Marcel  committed  Julie  to  Camille,  who  undertook 
to  keep  the  servants  from  babbling  about  this  nocturnal 
visit,  and  carried  Madam  Thierry  home  with  him  to  get 
a  little  rest.  Julien  had  already  made  his  escape  by  way 
of  the  pavilion.  Julie  sank  into  a  sweet  and  deep  sleep 
such  as  she  had  not  known  since  her  separation  from 
Julien. 

Fortunately,  M.  Antoine,  as  we  have  said,  had  long 
discontinued  his  watch  upon  the  hotel  d'Estrelle ;  and 
fortunately,  also,  the  servants  there  were  devoted  and 
discreet ;  for  if  he  had  heard  of  the  interview  between 
his  relatives  and  Madam  d'Estrelle,  the  consequences 
might  have  been  disastrous.  He  had  signified  his  inten- 
tion of  informing  the  countess  in  person  of  her  pardon, 
but  he  was  himself  fatigued  ;  his  nerves  were  unstrung ; 
and  he  was,  at  the  same  time,  in  a  great  state  of  self-sat- 
isfaction and  pride.  Accordingly  he  slept  very  soundly, 
and  did  not  get  up  until  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  than 
usual.  He  made  up  for  this,  however,  as  soon  as  he  was 
on  his  feet,  by  flying  into  a  state  of  extra  activity,  that 
threw  his  whole  household  into  alarm ;  for  M.  Antoine 
was  a  man  energetic  in  giving  orders,  prompt  in  uttering 
threats,  and  still  more  prompt  in  lifting  bis  cane  against 


244 


ANTONIA. 


delinquents.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  old  hotel 
de  Melcy  was  opened,  swept,  and  put  in  complete  order. 
Messengers  were  sent  off  in  all  directions,  and  at  noon  a 
sumptuous  dinner  was  served.  His  guests,  assembled  in 
the  great  gilded  saloon,  awaited  some  mysterious  event. 
Marcel  ushered  in  Madam  Thierry  and  Madam  d'Estrelle, 
whom  he  had  invited  in  behalf  of  the  host.  Julien  had 
also  received  an  invitation,  and  was  present.  Julie  was 
welcomed  by  Madam  d'Ancourt,  and  Madam  des  Morges, 
with  her  daughter  and  son-in-law.  The  Duke  de  Ques- 
noy  had  not  yet  returned,  but  the  abbe  de  Nivieres  was 
on  hand,  resolved  to  eat  for  both  of  them.  The  presi- 
dent's wife  did  not  keep  them  waiting,  and,  lastly,  Marcel 
was  empowered  to  present  to  the  ladies  a  number  of  bot- 
anists, both  professional  men  and  amateurs,  whom  M. 
Antoine  was  accustomed  to  assemble  around  him  on  great 
occasions. 

"  It's  enough  to  make  one  die  of  laughter,"  said  the 
baroness  to  Julie,  drawing  her  into  the  recess  of  a  win- 
dow. "  The  old  gentleman  sent  me  an  express  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  invite  me  to  be  present  at  the 
baptism  of  a  rare  plant  which  is  to  be  called  by  his  name  ! 
You  can  imagine  what  a  temper  I  was  in,  at  being  waked 
up  for  such  a  thing  as  that !  I  was  furious  !  But  when  I 
had  read  the  postscript,  stating  that  you  were  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  ceremony,  I  resolved  to  come.  So,  my  dearest 
friend,  you  are  reconciled  with  your  old  neighbor  ?  Very 
well,  so  much  the  better.  You  took  my  advice,  and  re- 
signed yourself  to  your  fate.  That's  right.  Mr.  Gar- 
dener is  not  particularly  agreeable,  but  five  millions ! 
Think  of  that!" 

Julie's  other  friends  took  a  different  view  of  the  matter. 
They  imagined  that  her  creditor  had  been  making  a  set- 
tlement witli  her  in  an  amicable  way,  on  terms  satisfactory 
to  both  parties  ;  and  that  they  would  be  rendering  Madam 
d'Estrelle  a  service  by  accepting  M.  Antoine's  invitation. 
They  questioned  her,  under  this  supposition,  and  she  did 
not  undeceive  them. 

As  for  the  savants,  they  were  far  from  considering 
the  baptism  of  the  new  plant  as  a  piece  of  puerile  osten- 


ANTONIA. 


245 


tatio  1.  M.  Antoine  had  made  several  interesting  addi- 
tions to  horticulture.  He  had  promoted  the  acclimation 
of  useful  trees,  and  was  justly  entitled  to  have  his  name 
recorded  in  the  anuals  of  science.  A  good  dinner,  in  such 
cases,  is  never  objectionable ;  nor  is  the  presence  of  a 
number  of  agreeable  ladies  absolutely  inconsistent  with  a 
proper  discussion  of  the  grave  interests  of  botany. 

When  all  were  assembled,  M.  Antoine  assumed  a 
modest  and  good-natured  manner ;  always,  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  he  displayed  it,  a  sure  indication  that  he 
was  certain  of  having  achieved  some  great  victory.  He 
phiced  the  company  around  a  large  table  with  an  object 
of  considerable  height  concealed  under  a  great  dome  of 
white  paper  standing  in  the  centre,  and  proceeded  to  draw 
from  his  pocket  a  manuscript  of  his  own  inditing,  very 
short,  fortunately,  but  which  it  was  difficult  to  hear  with- 
out laughing,  since  it  took  unceremoniously  the  most 
fearful  liberties  both  with  French  and  Latin.  This  trea- 
tise began  with  "  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  ;  "  it  proceeded 
to  discuss  the  importation  and  cultivation  of  the  finest 
known  plants  of  the  lily  species,  and  ended  thus  :  "  Hav- 
ing been  so  fortunate  (in  my  opinion)  as  to  obtain,  raise, 
and  bring  to  perfect  flowering  a  specimen,  unique  in 
France,  of  a  LiliaceaB,  surpassing  all  those  above  enume- 
rated in  size,  perfume  and  splendor,  I  call  the  attention 
of  the  honorable  company  to  the  individual  in  question, 
and  invite  them  to  give  it  a  name." 

As  he  ended  the  reading,  M.  Antoine,  who  was  armed 
with  a  long  rod,  dexterously  lifted  the  paper-covering 
from  the  object  before  him,  and  Julien  uttered  a  cry  of 
surprise ;  for  there,  fresh  and  blooming  in  all  its  glory, 
he  beheld  the  Antonia  Thierrii.  He  thought,  at  first, 
that  it  was  a  trick,  —  a  perfect  artificial  imitation  of  the 
original  Antonia  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  plant  was  released 
from  its  covering,  it  exhaled  a  perfume  that  reminded 
him,  as  well  as  Julie,  of  the  happy  hour  of  their  first 
meeting.  A  murmur  of  sincere  admiration  ran  around 
the  table,  and  M.  Antoine  added : 

"  Learned  gentlemen,  you  will  please  to  know  that  this 
plant  has  put  forth  two  flower-stems  ;  one,  a  pretty  fine 


246 


ANTONIA. 


one,  in  the  end  of  May,  which  was  broken  off  by  acci» 
dent,  and  is  preserved  in  my  herbarium ;  the  second  in 
August,  twice  as  large  and  twice  as  luU  as  the  other, 
which  has  bloomed,  as  you  see,  on  the  tenth  day  of  the 
said  month." 

''  Baptize  it,  baptize  it !  "  cried  Madam  d'Ancourt. 
"  I  would  like  to  be  the  godmother  of  this  beautiful  lily ; 
but  I  suppose  somebody  else  — " 

She  paused,  and  looked  over  at  Julie,  good-naturedly, 
and  yet  ironically.  The  savants,  witliout  noticing  her, 
unanimously  proclaimed  the  name  of  Antonia  Thierrii*' 

"  You  are  very  good,  gentlemen,"  said  M.  Antoine,  blush- 
ing with  pleasure  and  stammering  with  emotion,  "  but  1 
desire  to  suggest  a  modification.  It  is  fair  enough  that 
the  plant  should  bear  my  name  ;  but  I  should  like  to  join 
to  it  the  first  name  of  a  person  who  —  of  a  lady  —  in 
fact,  I  want  to  name  it  Julie- Antonia- Thierrii.^* 

^'  It's  rather  long,"  observed  Marcel ;  "  but  then  it's 
such  a  tall  plant !  " 

*'  Very  good ;  hurrah  for  the  Julie- Antonia- Thierrii  I " 
answered  the  scientific  gentlemen,  with  great  readiness. 

"  There  !  At  last !  Bravo  !  It  is  decided,  then  !  " 
cried  the  Baroness  d'Ancourt,  in  so  loud  a  voice  as  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  whole  table.  Pointing  to  Julie, 
she  clasped  her  plump,  white  hands,  as  a  sign  of  an  anti- 
cipated marriage. 

Everybody  looked  at  Julie,  whose  vivid  blush  brought 
back  all  the  splendor  of  her  beauty. 

"  Pardon  me,  baroness,"  said  uncle  Antoine,  with  a 
sly  expression  ;  "I  deceived  you  when  I  applied  to  you 
to  make  an  offer  of  marriage  in  my  behalf  to  the  Countess 
d'Estrelle.  I  wanted  to  see  what  you  would  say,  and 
you  did  not  refuse  ;  on  the  contrary,  you  advised  the 
young  lady  to  accept  me.  This  decided  me  to  propose  to 
her  the  person  whom  I  really  had  in  my  mind  ;  for  I  said 
to  myself,  '  If  an  old  fellow  like  me  is  considered  a  proper 
match  for  the  young  lady  because  I  have  money,  my 
nephew,  who  is  youug,  and  who  will  inherit  a  large  share 
of  my  money,  will  stand  a  good  chance  of  being  really 
accepted.'     Accordingly,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  with  the 


ANTONIA. 


247 


consent  of  Madam  d'Estrelle,  I  announce  that  the  various 
discussions  that  have  taken  place  between  her  and  myself 
are  terminated,  and  that  peace  is  concluded  by  the  be- 
trothal of  Madam  d'Estrelle  and  my  nephew  Julien 
Thierry,  whom  I  do  myself  the  honor  to  present  to 
you." 

"  Ah,  bah !  the  young  painter ! "  cried  Madam  d'An- 
court,  irritated,  without  knowing  why,  at  Julien*s  good 
looks  and  ardent  expression. 

"A  painter?"  cried  Madam  des  Morges,  greatly 
shocked  ;  "  ah,  my  dear,  it  was  true  then?  " 

"  Yes,  my  friends,  it  was  true,"  answered  Julie, 
bravely ;  "  we  loved  each  other  before  we  knew  that  M. 
Antoine  would  rescue  us  from  the  poverty  which  threat- 
ened us  both." 

"  I  declare  that  M.  Antoine  is  a  great  man,  and  a  true 
philosopher  !  "  cried  the  abbe  de  Nivieres.  *'  If  we  could 
only  liave  dinner !  " 

"  Let  us  go  to  dinner,  ladies  and  gentlemen  !  "  replied 
M.  Antoine,  offering  Julie  his  arm  ;  "  you  will  consider 
this  marriage  a  mesalliance  for  the  countess,  but  each  of 
my  nephews  will  have  three  millions,  —  that  will  polish 
up  the  family,  and  my  grand-nephews  will  be  rich  enough 
to  purchase  titles." 

This  final  argument  had  its  effect  upon  Julie's  friends, 
who,  after  a  little  hesitation,  offered  her  their  congratula- 
tions. She  was  obliged  to  accept  the  imputation  of  hav- 
ing sacrificed  the  dignity  of  rank  for  wealth.  But  what 
did  it  matter,  after  all?  Julien  knew  what  she  really 
felt. 

Julie,  —  who  was  still  in  mourning  for  her  father-in- 
law,  —  went  to  Sevres  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  summer. 
Sevres  is  an  oasis  in  Normandy,  about  two  leagues  from 
Paris.  Th»  orchards  have  a  rural  perfume,  and  the  hill- 
sides, thickly  dotted  with  rustic  gardens,  were  just  as 
lovely,  and  more  simple  in  those  days  than  they  are  at 
present.  Not  that  we  would  undervalue  the  smiling  villas 
of  the  Sevres  of  to-day,  with  their  splendid  shade-trees, 
their  picturesque  ravines,  and  bold  precipices  descending 
abruptly  to  the  river.     The  railroad  has  not  yet  robbed 


248  ANTONIA. 

this  woody  region  of  all  its  poetry,  and  it  is  very  delight- 
ful to  be  able,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  to  reach  grassy 
footpaths  and  meadows  sloping  to  the  water.  From  the 
top  of  the  hill,  through  the  groves  of  trees  grouped  in  the 
foreground,  you  can  see  Paris,  grandly  outlined  upon  the 
blue  horizon.  Three  steps  off,  at  the  bottom  of  the  ra- 
vine, you  lose  sight  altogether  of  the  great  city ;  and, 
escaping  even  from  the  glaring  white  of  the  villas,  can 
wander  about  in  the  real  country,  —  a  little  old-fashioned, 
hut  fresh,  serene,  and  everywhere  gay  with  flowers. 

Here  Julie  recovered  her  health,  which  for  some  time 
was  seriously  impaired  ;  and  before  their  marriage,  as  well 
as  after  it,  she  and  Julien  were  all  in  all  to  each  other. 
What  society  said  and  thought  about  their  marriage,  they 
did  not  even  wish  to  know.  They  had  a  sufiicient  number 
of  real  friends,  and  Madam  Thierry  was  the  happiest  of 
mothers.  It  is  true  that  their  repose  was  disturbed  by 
the  political  troubles,  whose  approach  Julien  had  fore- 
seen, although  he  had  not  anticipated  such  swift  and 
radical  changes.  Frank  and  generous,  he  made  himself 
extremely  useful  in  the  neighborhood  bv  his  efforts  to  re- 
lieve the  misery  of  the  poor,  and  to  prevent  them  from 
indulging  in  acts  of  fatal  violence.  For  a  long  time  he 
preserved  great  influence  over  the  workmen  of  the  Sevres 
factory,  and  those  of  the  faubourg  surrounding  the  hotel 
d'Estrelle.  On  certain  occasions  he  was  overborne  ;  but 
nothing  could  induce  him  to  pursue  a  course  that  his  con- 
science disapproved,  and  he  found  himself  threatened  in 
his  turn,  and  on  the  point  of  being  denounced  as  a  sus- 
picious person.  The  firmness  with  which  he  repelled  these 
suspicious,  the  generosity  of  his  personal  sacrifices,  and 
his  confidence  when  in  the  midst  of  danger,  saved  him. 
.Julie  was  not  less  brave  :  her  character  was  transformed  ; 
she  lost  her  timidity,  and  her  mind  was  strengthened  and 
developed  by  her  union  with  a  noble  and  courageous 
nature.  She  suffered  great  anguish  at  seeing  num- 
bers of  her  old  friends  seized  by  the  revolutionary  offi- 
cials, in  spite  of  all  that  Julie  could  do  to  protect  them. 
By  wise  advice  and  sensible  measures  she  succeeded  in 
saving  several  of  these  victims.     Two  she  concealed  in 


ANTONIA.  249 

her  own  house  ;  but  she  could  not  preserve  the  Baroness 
d'Aiicourt,  who  betrayed  herself  by  the  very  excess  of 
her  terror,  and  suffered  an  extremely  severe  imprison- 
ment. The  unlucky  Marchioness  d'Estrelle  could  not 
contain  her  fury  at  having  to  contribute  her  savings  to 
the  forced  loans,  and  perished  on  the  scaffold.  The  Duke 
de  Quesnoy  emigrated.  The  abbe  de  Nivieres,  more  pru- 
dent, became  a  Jacobin. 

After  the  Reign  of  Terror,  the  suppression  of  the 
monopoly  of  the  royal  establishments  enabled  Julien  to 
accomplish  a  favorite  design :  to  introduce,  practically, 
the  industrial  and  artistic  improvements,  which,  in  his 
leisure  at  Sevres,  he  had  been  studying  and  experiment- 
ing on.  He  gained  no  profit  by  doing  this,  nor  did  he 
desire  any ;  in  fact,  he  lost  money,  but  he  succeeded  in 
elevating  the  condition  of  many  poor  families.  Accord- 
ingly he  did  not  become  rich,  but  his  wife  was  happy  in 
seeing  him  pursue  his  artistic  labors  and  take  pleasure 
in  superintending  the  education  of  his  children. 

Marcel  bought  a  little  house  at  Sevres,  near  Julien's, 
and  the  two  families  passed  together  as  many  holidays 
and  leisure  days  as  the  worthy  lawyer,  now  an  advocate, 
and  absorbed  in  business,  could  spare  from  his  professional 
duties.  He  acquired,  by  honest  industry,  a  respectable  for- 
tune, and  Julien  learned  to  manage  his  property  with  the 
prudence  which  his  father  had  lacked.  It  was  well  he 
did  so,  for  M.  Antoine's  property  was  confiscated  in  the 
Revolution.  The  old  man,  who  felt  no  desire  for  family 
ties,  continued  to  live  alone  ;  he  was  as  gracious  as  his  na- 
ture allowed  him  to  be  with  his  relatives,  whose  gratitude 
flattered  his  pride,  but  he  refused  to  enter  into  any  rela- 
tions which  could  interfere  with  his  own  mode  of  life. 
Having  promised  Marcel  to  abandon  his  idea  of  mar- 
rying, he  kept  his  word  ;  but  another  mania  seized  him. 
He  became  interested  in  politics,  and  denounced  with 
equal  fury  whatever  party  chanced  to  be  uppermost. 
They  were  all,  according  to  him,  crazy,  or  blind,  or 
stupid.  The  king  was  too  weak,  the  people  were 
too  patient,  the  guillotine  was  by  turns  too  idle  or  too 
voracious.      Finally,   the  swift  succession   of   tragedies 


250 


ANTONIA. 


convulsing  France  seemed  to  confuse  his  mind,  which 
had  always  been  unsound  rather  than  evil  disposed.  He 
changed  his  views,  and,  after  advocating  the  most  ultra 
sans-culotte  doctrines,  became  ridiculously  conservative. 
All  these  vagaries  were  quite  harmless,  for  he  attempted 
no  intrigues,  but  contented  himself  with  railing  against 
people  and  events,  on  the  few  occasions  when  he  made  his 
appearance  in  society.  He  was,  however,  denounced  by 
some  workman  whom  he  had  ill-treated,  and  came  very 
near  losing  his  head  to  pay  for  his  unbridled  bursts  of  ob- 
scure eloquence. 

Julien  and  Marcel,  by  persevering  efforts,  induced  him 
to  quit  the  hotel  de  Melcy,  where  he  was  every  day  in 
danger  of  bringing  down  a  storm  upon  his  head.  They 
kept  him  in  concealment  at  Sevres,  where  he  tormented 
them  greatly  with  his  ill-humor,  besides  compromising 
them  more  than  once  by  his  imprudence.  His  property 
having  been  placed  in  sequestration,  he  only  recovered 
fragments  of  it ;  but  he  supported  this  great  loss  with 
much  philosophy.  He  was  like  those  pilots  who  curse 
and  swear  during  the  storm,  but  who  are  quite  calm 
while  trying  to  save  something  from  the  wreck.  Julien 
urged  him  to  take  back  the  property  settled  upon  himself, 
but  he  refused  to  touch  it.  His  garden  was  not  seized  ; 
and  having  ultimately  recovered  it  almost  untouched,  he 
resumed  his  old  habits,  and  became  relatively  good- 
humored.  He  lived  in  the  hotel  de  Melcy  until  the  year 
1802,  and  was  strong  and  active  to  the  last.  One  day  he 
was  found  dead,  sitting  on  a  bench,in  the  sun,  his  watering- 
pot  half  full  by  his  side,  and  on  his  knee  an  unintelligible 
manuscript, — the  last  lucubration  of  his  exhausted  brain. 
He  died  without  any  warning.  Only  the  day  before,  he 
had  said  to  Marcel,  — 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  the  millions  that  you  were  to  have 
inherited  from  me,  you  shall  have.  Let  me  only  live  ten 
years  longer,  and  I  will  make  a  greater  fortune  than  I 
made  before.  I  have  a  plan  for  a  constitution  that  will 
save  France  from  further  disturbance  ;  when  that  is  set- 
tled, I  will  give  some  attention  to  my  own  affairs,  and  re- 
Bume  my  export  trade." 


GEORGE     SAND, 

By  JUSTIN    M'CARTHY.' 


Reprinted  from  "  The  Galaxy'*  for  May,  1870. 


\JI7E  are  all  of  us  probably  inclined,  now  and  then,  to 
waste  a  little  time  in  vaguely  speculating  on  what 
might  have  happened  if  this  or  that  particular  event  had 
^ot  given  a  special  direction  to  the  career  of  some  great 
man  or  woman.  If  there  had  been  an  inch  of  difference 
in  the  size  of  Cleopatra's  nose  ;  if  Hannibal  had  not  lin- 
gered at  Capua  ;  if  Cromwell  had  carried  out  his  idea  of 
emigration ;  if  Napoleon  Bonaparte  had  taken  service 
under  the  Turk,  —  and  so  on  through  all  the  old  familiar 
illustrations  dear  to  the  minor  essayist  and  the  debating 
society.  I  have  sometimes  felt  tempted  thus  to  lose  my- 
self in  speculating  on  what  might  have  happened  if  the 
woman  whom  all  the  world  knows  as  George  Sand  had 
been  happily  married  in  her  youth  to  the  husband  of  her 
choice.  Would  she  ever  have  taken  to  literature  at  all? 
Would  she,  loving  as  she  does,  and  as  Frenchwomen  so 
rarely  do,  the  changing  face  of  inanimate  nature,  —  the 
fie)'ls,  the  flowers  and  the  brooks,  —  have  lived  a  peace- 


2  GEORGE   SAND, 

fill  and  obscure  life  in  some  happy  country  place,  and 
been  content  with  home,  and  family,  and  love,  and  never 
thought  of  fame  ?  Or  if,  thus  happily  married,  she  still 
had  allowed  her  genius  to  find  an  expression  in  liter- 
ature, would  she  have  written  books  with  no  passionate 
purpose  in  them,  —  books  which  might  have  seemed 
like  those  of  a  good  Miss  Mulock  made  perfect,  —  books 
which  Podsnap  might  have  read  with  approval,  and  put 
without  a  scruple  into  the  hands  of  that  modest  young 
person,  his  daughter?  Certainly  one  cannot  but  think 
that  a  different  kind  of  early  life  would  have  given  a 
quite  different  complexion  to  the  literary  individuality  of 
George  Sand. 

Bulwer  Lytton,  in  one  of  his  novels,  insists  that  true 
genius  is  always  quite  independent  of  the  individual  suf- 
ferings or  joys  of  its  possessor,  and  describes  some 
inspired  youth  in  the  novel  as  sitting  down,  while  sorrow 
is  in  his  heart,  and  hunger  gnawing  at  his  vitals,  to 
throw  off  a  sparkling  and  gladsome  little  fairy  tale. 
Now  this  is  undoubtedly  true,  in  general,  of  any  high 
order  of  genius ;  but  there  are  at  least  some  great  and 
striking  exceptions.  Rousseau  and  Byron  are,  in  modem 
days,  remarkable  illustrations  of  genius,  admittedly  of  a 
very  high  rank,  governed  and  guided  almost  wholly  by 
the  individual  fortunes  of  the  men  themselves.  So,  too, 
must  we  speak  of  the  genius  of  George  Sand.  Not 
Eousseau,  not  even  Byron,  was  in  this  sense  more  ego- 
tistic than  the  woman  who  broke  the  chains  of  her  ill- 
assorted  marriage  with  a  crash  that  made  its  echoes 
heard  at  last  in  every  civilized  country  in  the  world. 
Just  as  people  are  constantly  quoting  nous  avons  change 
tout  cela  who  never  read  a  page  of  Moliere,  or  pour  en- 
courager  les  autres  without  even  being  aware  that  there 


GEORGE  SAND.  3 

IS  a  story  of  Voltaire's  called  "  Candide,"  so  there  have 
been  thousands  of  passionate  protests  uttered  in  America 
and  Europe,  for  the  last  twenty  years,  by  people  who 
never  saw  a  volume  of  George  Sand,  and  yet  are  only 
echoing  her  sentiments  and  even  repeating  her  words. 

In  a  former  number  of  The  Galaxy^  I  expressed 
casually  the  opinion  that  George  Sand  is  probably  the 
most  influential  writer  of  our  day.  I  am  still,  and  delib- 
erately, of  the  same  opinion.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  very  few  English  or  American  authors  have  any 
wide  or  deep  influence  over  peoples  who  do  not  speak 
English.  Even  of  the  very  greatest  authors  this  is  true. 
Compare,  for  example,  the  literary  dominion  of  Shake- 
speare with  that  of  Cervantes.  All  nations  who  read 
Shakespeare  read  Cervantes :  in  Stratford-upon-Avon 
itself  Don  Quixote  is  probably  as  familiar  a  figure  in 
people's  minds  as  Falstaff;  but  Shakespeare  is  little 
known  indeed  to  the  vast  majority  of  readers  in  the 
country  of  Cervantes,  in  the  land  of  Dante,  or  in  that 
of  Racine  and  Victor  Hugo.  In  something  of  the  same 
way  we  may  compare  the  influence  of  George  Sand  with 
that  of  even  the  greatest  living  authors  of  England  and 
America.  What  influence  has  Charles  Dickens  or 
George  Eliot  outside  the  range  of  the  English  tongue? 
But  George  Sand's  genius  has  been  felt  as  a  power  in 
every  country  of  the  world  where  people  read  any  man- 
ner of  books.  It  has  been  felt  almost  as  Rousseau's 
once  was  felt ;  it  has  aroused  anger,  terror,  pity,  or 
wild  and  rapturous  excitement  and  admiration  ;  it  has 
rallied  around  it  everyJnstinct  in  man  or  woman  which 
is  revolutionary  ;  it  has  ranged  against  it  all  that  is  con- 
servative. It  is  not  so  much  a  literary  influence  as  a 
great  disorganizing  force,  riving  the  rocks  of  custom, 


4  GEORGE   SAND. 

resolving  into  their  original  elements  the  social  combi* 
nation  which  tradition  and  convention  would  declare  to  be 
indissoluble.  I  am  not  now  speaking  merely  of  the  sen- 
timents which  George  Sand  does  or  did  entertain  on  the 
subject  of  marriage.  Divested  of  all  startling  effects 
and  thrilling  dramatic  illustrations,  these  sentiments 
probably  amounted  to  nothing  more  dreadful  than  the 
belief  that  an  unwedded  union  between  two  people  who 
love  and  are  true  to  each  other  is  less  immoral  than  the 
legal  marriage  of  two  uncongenial  creatures  who  do  not 
love  and  probably  are  not  true  to  each  other.  But  the 
grand,  revolutionary  idea  which  George  Sand  announced 
was  that  of  the  social  independence  and  equality  of 
woman,  —  the  principle  that  woman  is  not  made  for  man 
in  any  other  sense  than  as  man  is  made  for  woman. 
For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  world  woman 
spoke  out  for  herself  with  a  voice  as  powerful  as  that  of 
man.  For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  world 
woman  spoke  out  as  woman,  not  as  the  servant,  the 
satellite,  the  pupil,  the  plaything,  or  the  goddess  of  man. 
Now,  I  intend  at  present  to  write  of  George  Sand 
rather  as  an  individual,  or  an  influence,  than  as  the 
author  of  certain  works  of  fiction.  Criticism  would  now 
be  superfluously  bestowed  on  the  literary  merits  and 
peculiarities  of  the  great  woman  whose  astonishing  intel- 
lectual activity  has  never  ceased  to  produce,  during  the 
last  thirty  years,  works  which  take  already  a  classical 
place  in  French  literature.  If  any  reputation  of  our  day 
may  be  looked  upon  as  established,  we  may  thus  regard 
the  reputation  of  George  Sand.  She  is,  beyond  com- 
parison, the  greatest  living  novelist  of  France.  She  has 
won  this  position  by  the  most  legitimate  application  of 
the  gifts  of  an  artist.  With  all  her  marvellous  fecundity, 


GEORGE  SAND.  ^ 

ehe  has  hardly  ever  given  to  the  world  any  work  which 
does  not  seem,  at  least,  to  have  been  the  subject  of  the 
most  elaborate  and  patient  care.  The  greatest  tempta- 
tion which  tries  a  story-teller  is  perhaps  the  temptation 
to  rely  on  the  attractiveness  of  story-telling,  and  to  pay 
little  or  no  attention  to  style.  Walter  Scott's  prose,  for 
example,  if  regarded  as  mere  prose,  is  rambling,  irreg- 
ular, and  almost  worthless.  Dickens's  prose  is  as  bad  a 
model  for  imitation  as  a  musical  performance  which  is 
out  of  tune.  Of  course,  I  need  hardly  say  that  attention 
to  style  is  almost  as  characteristic  of  French  authors  in 
general,  as  the  lack  of  it  is  characteristic  of  English 
authors  ;  but,  even  in  France,  the  prose  of  George  Sand 
stands  out  conspicuous  for  its  wonderful  expressiveness 
and  force,  its  almost  perfect  beauty.  Then,  of  all 
modern  French  authors,  —  I  might,  perhaps,  say  of  all 
modern  novelists  of  any  country,  —  George  Sand  has 
added  to  fiction,  has  annexed  from  the  worlds  of  reality 
and  of  imagination  the  greatest  number  of  original  char- 
acters, —  of  what  Emerson  calls  new  organic  creations. 
Moreover,  George  Sand  is,  after  Rousseau,  the  one  only 
great  French  author  who  has  looked  directly  and  lov- 
ingly into  the  face  of  Nature,  and  learned  the  secrets 
which  skies  and  waters,  fields  and  lanes,  can  teach  to 
the  heart  that  loves  them.  Gifts  such  as  these  have  won 
her  the  almost  unrivalled  place  which  she  holds  in  living 
literature ;  and  she  has  conquered  at  last  even  the  public 
opinion  which  once  detested  and  proscribed  her.  I 
could  therefore  hope  to  add  nothing  to  what  has  been 
already  said  by  criticism  in  regard  to  her  merits  as  a 
novelist.  Indogd,  I  think  it  probab|y„t|j,fft,,t,,hfii  majority 
of  readers  in  this  country  know  more  of  Qeprge  Sand 
through  the  interpretation  of  tlie  critics  than  through  the\ 


6  GEORGE  SAND. 

pages  of  her  books.  And  in  her  case  criticism  is  so 
nearly  unanimous  as  to  her  literary  merits,  that  I  may 
safely  assume  the  public  in  general  to  have  in  their 
minds  a  just  recognition  of  her  position  as  a  novelist. 
My  object  is  rather  to  say  something  about  the  place 
which  George  Sand  has  taken  as  a  social  revolutionist, 
about  the  influence  she  has  so  long  exercised  over  the 
world,  and  about  the  woman  herself.  For  she  is  assur- 
edly the  greatest  champion  of  woman's  rights,  in  one 
sense,  that  the  world  has  ever  seen ;  and  she  is,  on  the 
^ther  hand,  the  one  woman  out  of  all  the  world  who  has 
been  most  commonly  pointed  to  as  the  appalling  example 
to  scare  doubtful  and  fluttering  womanhood  back  into  its 
sheepfold  of  submissiveness  and  conventionality.  There 
is  hardly  a  woman's  heart  anywhere  in  the  civilized 
world  which  has  not  felt  the  vibration  of  George  Sand's 
thrilling  voice.  Women  who  never  saw  one  of  her 
books,  —  nay,  who  never  heard  even  her  nom  de  plume^ 
have  been  stirred  by  emotions  of  doubt  or  fear,  or  repin- 
ing or  ambition,  which  they  never  would  have  known 
but  for  George  Sand,  and  perhaps  but  for  George  Sand's 
uncongenial  marriage.  For,  indeed,  there  is  not  now, 
and  has  not  been  for  twenty  years,  I  venture  to  think,  a 
single  "revolutionary"  idea,  as  slow  and  steady-going 
people  would  call  it,  afloat  anywhere  in  Europe  or  Amer- 
ica, on  the  subject  of  woman's  relations  to  man,  society, 
and  destiny,  which  is  not  due  immediately  to  the  influence 
of  George  Sand,  and  to  the  influence  of  George  Sand's 
unhappy  marriage  upon  George  Sand  herself. 

The  world  has  of  late  years  grown  used  to  this  extra- 
ordinary woman,  and  has  lost  much  of  the  wonder  and 
terror  with  which  it  once  regarded  her.  I  can  quite 
remember,  —  younger  people  than  I  can  i-emember,— • 


GEORGE  SAND.  7 

the  time  when  all  good  and  proper  personages  in  Eng^ 
land  regarded  the  authoress  of  ''  Indiana  "  as  a  sort  of 
feminine  fiend,  endowed  with  a  hideous  power  for  the 
destruction  of  souls,  and  an  inextinguishable  thirst  for 
the  slaughter  of  virtuous  beliefs.  I  fancy  a  good  deal 
of  this  sentiment  was  due  to  the  fearful  reports  wafted 
across  the  seas,  that  this  terrible  woman  had  not  merely 
repudiated  the  marriage  bond,  but  had  actually  put  off 
the  garments  sacred  to  womanhood.  That  George  Sand 
appeared  in  men's  clothes  was  an  outrage  upon  conse- 
crated proprieties  far  more  astonishing  than  any  theo- 
retical onslaught  upon  old  opinions  could  be.  Reformers, 
indeed,  should  always,  if  they  are  wise  in  their  gener- 
ation, have  a  care  of  the  proprieties.  Many  worthy  peo- 
ple can  listen  with  comparative  fortitude  when  sacred 
and  eternal  truths  are  assailed,  who  are  stricken  with 
horror  when  the  ark  of  propriety  is  never  so  lightly  \ 
touched.  George  Sand's  pantaloons  were,  therefore,  I 
regarded  as  the  most  appalling  illustration  of  George  I 
Sand's  wickedness.  I  well  remember  what  excitement,  | 
scandal,  and  horror  were  created  in  the  provincial  town 
where  I  lived,  some  twenty  years  ago,  when  the  editor 
of  a  local  Panjandrum  (to  borrow  Mr.  Trollope's  word) 
insulted  the  feelings  and  the  morals  of  his  constituents 
and  subscribers  by  polluting  his  pages  with  a  translation 
from  one  of  George  Sand's  shorter  novels.  Ah  me  !  the 
little  novel  might,  so  far  as  morality  was  concerned, 
have  been  written  every  word  by  Miss  Phelps,  or  the 
authoress  of  the  "  Ileir  of  Redcliff  "  ;  it  had  not  a  word, 
from  beginning  to  end,  which  might  not  have  been  read 
out  to  a  Sunday-school  of  girls ;  the  translation  was 
made  by  a  woman  of  the  purest  soul,  and,  in  her  own 
locality,  of  the  highest  name ;  and  yet  how  virtue  did 


5  GEORGE  SAND. 

shriek  out  against  the  publication !  The  editor  perse- 
vered in  the  publishing  of  the  novel,  spurred  on  to  bold- 
ness by  some  of  his  very  young  and  therefore  fearless 
coadjutors,  who  thought  it  delightful  to  confront  public 
opinion,  and  liked  the  notion  of  the  stars  in  their  courses 
fighting  against  Sisera,  and  Sisera  not  being  dismayed. 
That  charming,  tender,  touching  little  story !  I  would 
submit  it  to-day  cheerfully  to  the  verdict  of  a  jury  of 
matrons,  confident  that  it  would  be  declared  a  fit  and 
proper  publication.  But  at  that  time  it  was  enough  that 
the  story  bore  the  odious  name  of  George  Sand ;  public 
opinion  condemned  it,  and  sent  the  magazine  which  ven- 
tured to  translate  it  to  an  early  and  dishonored  grave.  I 
remember  reading,  about  that  time,  a  short  notice  of 
George  Sand  by  an  English  authoress  of  some  talent 
and  culture,  in  which  the  Frenchwoman's  novels  were 
described  as  so  abominably  filthy  that  even  the  denizens 
of  the  Paris  brothels  were  ashamed  to  be  caught  read- 
ing them.  Now,  this  declaration  was  made  all  in  good 
faith,  in  the  simple  good  faith  of  that  class  of  persons 
who  will  pass  wholesale  and  emphatic  judgment  upon 
works  of  which  they  have  never  read  a  single  page. 
For  I  need  hardly  tell  any  intelligent  person  of  to-day 
that,  whatever  may  be  said  of  George  Sand's  doctrines, 
she  is  no  more  open  to  the  charge  of  indelicacy  than  the 
authoress  of  "  Romola."  I  cannot,  myself,  remember 
any  passage  in  George  Sand's  novels  which  can  be  called 
indelicate ;  and,  indeed,  her  severest  and  most  hostile 
critics  are  fond  of  saying,  not  without  a  certain  justice^ 
that  one  of  the  worst  characteristics  of  her  works  is  thff 
delicacy  and  beauty  of  her  srtyle,  which  thus  commends 
to  pure  and  innocent  minds  certain  doctrines  that, 
broadly  stated,  would  repel  and  shock  them.     Were  I 


GEORGE  SAND.  9 

one  of  George  Sand's  inveterate  opponents,  this,  or 
something  like  it,  is  the  ground  I  would  take  up.  I 
would  say :  "  The  welfare  of  the  human  family  demands 
that  a  marriage,  legally  made,  shall  never  be  questioned 
or  undone.  Marriage  is  not  a  union  depending  on  love 
or  congeniality,  or  any  such  condition.  It  is  just  as 
sacred  when  made  for  money,  or  for  ambition,  or  for 
lust  of  the  flesh,  or  for  any  other  purpose,  however  ig- 
noble and  base,  as  when  contracted  in  the  spirit  of  the 
purest  mutual  love.  Here  is  a  woman  of  great  power 
and  daring  genius,  who  says  that  the  essential  condition 
of  marriage  is  love  and  natural  fitness ;  that  a  legal 
union  of  man  and  woman  without  this  is  no  marriage  at 
all,  but  a  detestable  and  disgusting  sin.  Now,  the  more 
delicately,  modestly,  plausibly  she  can  put  this  revolu- 
Lionary  and  pernicious  doctrine,  the  more  dangerous  she 
becomes,  and  the  more  earnestly  we  ought  to  denounce 
her."  This  was,  in  fact,  what  a  great  many  persons  did 
oay ;  and  the  protest  was  at  least  consistent  and  logical. 

But  horror  is  an  emotion  which  cannot  long  live  on 
the  old  fuel,  and  even  the  world  of  English  Philistinism 
soon  ceased  to  regard  George  Sand  as  a  mere  monster. 
Any  one  now  taking  up  "  Indiana,"  for  example,  would 
perhaps  find  it  not  quite  easy  to  understand  how  the 
book  produced  such  an  eff*ect.  Our  novel-writing  women 
of  to-day  commonly  feed  us  on  more  fiery  stuff  than  this. 
Not  to  speak  of  such  accomplished  artists  in  impurity  as 
the  lady  who  calls  herself  Ouida,  and  one  or  two  others 
of  the  same  school,  we  have  young  women,  only  just  pro- 
moted from  pantalettes,  who  can  throw  you  off  such  glow, 
ing  chapters  of  passion  and  young  desire  as  would  make 
the  rhapsodies  of  "  Indiana"  seem  very  feeble  milk-and- 
water  brewage  by  comparison.     Indeed,  except  for  some 


lO  GEORGB   SAND. 

of  the  descriptions  in  the  opening  chapters,  I  fail  to  se« 
any  extraordinary  merit  in  "  Indiana  "  ;  and  toward  the 
end  it  seems  to  me  to  grow  verbose,  weak,  and  tiresome, 
I"  Leone  Leoni "  opens  with  one  of  the  finest  dramatic 
outbursts  of  emotion  known  to  the  literature  of  modern 
fiction  ;  but  it  soon  wanders  away  into  discursive  weak- 
ness, and  only  just  toward  the  close  brightens  up  into  a 
burst  of  lurid  splendor.  It  is  not  those  which  I  may  call 
the  questionable  novels  of  George  Sand,  —  the  novels 
which  were  believed  to  illustrate  in  naked  and  appalling 
simplicity  her  doctrines  and  her  life,  —  that  will  bear  up 
her  fame  through  succeeding  generations.  If  every  one 
of  the  novels  which  thus  in  their  time  drew  down  the 
thun  lers  of  Society's  denunciation  were  to  be  swept  into 
the  wallet  wherein  Time,  according  to  Shakespeare,  car- 
ries scraps  for  oblivion,  George  Sand  would  still  remain 
where  she  now  is,  — at  the  head  of  the  French  fiction  of 
her  day.  It  is  true,  as  Goethe  says,  that  "miracle- 
working  pictures  are  rarely  works  of  art."  The  books 
which  make  the  hair  of  the  respectable  public  stand  on 
end  are  not  often  the  works  by  which  the  fame  of  the 
author  is  preserved  for  posterity. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  at  the  early  time  to  which  I 
have  been  alluding,  little  or  nothing  was  known  in  Eng- 
land (or,  I  presume,  in  America)  of  the  real  life  of 
Aurora  Amandine  Dupin,  who  had  been  pleased  to  call 
herself  George  Sand.  People  knew,  or  had  heard,  that 
she  had  separated  from  her  husband,  that  she  had  writ- 
ten novels  which  depreciated  the  sanctity  of  legal  mar 
riage,  and  that  she  sometimes  wore  male  costume  in  the 
streets.  This  was  enough.  In  England,  at  least,  we 
were  ready  to  infer  any  enormity  regarding  a  woman 
who  was  unsound  on  the  legal  marriage  question,  and 


GEORGS  SAND.  H 

who  did  not  wear  petticoats.  What  would  have  been 
said  had  people  then  conunonly  known  half  the  stories 
which  were  circulated  in  Paris,  —  half  the  extravagances 
into  which  a  passionate  soul,  and  the  stimulus  of  sudden 
emancipation  from  restraint,  had  hurried  the  authoress 
of  ''  Indiana  "  and  "  Lucrezia  Floriani "  ?  For  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  life  of  that  woman  was,  in  its  earliei 
years,  a  strange  and  wild  phenomenon,  hardly  to  be  com- 
prehended, perhaps,  by  American  or  English  natures.  I 
have  heard  George  Sand  bitterly  aiTaigned  even  by 
persons  who  protested  that  they  were  at  one  with  her  as 
regards  the  early  sentiments  which  used  to  excite  such 
odium.  I  have  heard  her  described  by  such  as  a  sort  of 
Lamia  of  literature  and  passion,  —  a  creature  who  could 
seize  some  noble,  generous,  youthful  heart,  drain  it  of  its 
love,  its  aspirations,  its  profoundest  emotions,  and  then 
fling  it,  squeezed  and  lifeless,  away.  I  have  heard  it 
declared  that  George  Sand  made  "  copy "  of  the  fierce 
and  passionate  loves  which  she  knew  so  well  how  to 
awaken  and  to  foster  ;  that  she  distilled  the  life-blood  of 
youth  to  obtain  the  mixture  out  of  which  she  derived  her 
inspiration.  The  charge  so  commonly  (I  think  unjustly) 
made  against  Goethe,  that  he  played  with  the  girlish  love 
of  Bettina  and  of  others  in  order  to  obtain  a  subject  for 
literary  dissection,  is  vehemently  and  deliberately  urged 
in  an  aggravated  form,  —  in  many  aggravated  forms,  — 
against  George  Sand.  Where,  such  accusers  ask,  is  that 
young  poet,  endowed  with  a  lyrical  genius  rare  indeed  in 
the  France  of  later  days,  —  that  young  poet  whose  imag- 
ination was  at  once  so  daring  and  so  subtle, — w^ho  might 
have  been  Beranger  and  Heine  in  one,  and  have  risen  to 
an  atmosphere  in  which  neither  Beranger  nor  Heine  ever 
floated  ?  Where  is  he,  and  what  evil  influence  was  it  which 


i2  GEORGE   SAND. 

sapped  the  strength  of  his  nature,  corrupted  his  geuius, 
and  prepared  for  him  a  premature  and  shameful  grave  ? 
Where  is  that  young  musician,  whose  pure,  tender,  and 
lofty  strains  sound  sweetly  and  sadly  in  the  ears,  as  the 
very  hymn  and  music  of  the  Might^Have-Been,  —  where 
is  he  now,  and  what  was  the  seductive  power  which 
made  a  plaything  of  him  and  then  flung  him  away? 
Here  and  there  some  man  of  stronger  mould  is  pointed 
out  as  one  who  was  at  the  first  conquered,  and  then 
deceived  and  trifled  with,  but  who  ordered  his  stout  heart 
to  bear,  and  rose  superior  to  the  hour,  and  lived  to 
retrieve  his  nature  and  make  himself  a  name  of  respect ; 
but  the  others,  of  more  sensitive  and  perhaps  finer  organ- 
izations, are  only  the  more  to  be  pitied  because  they  were 
so  terribly  in  earnest.  Seldom,  even  in  the  literary  his- 
;  tory  of  modern  France,  has  there  been  a  more  strange 
\  and  shocking  episode  than  the  publication  by  George 
Sand  of  the  little  book  called  "  EUe  et  Lui,"  and  the 
\^^  rejoinder  to  it  by  Paul  de  Musset,  called  "  Lui  et  Elle." 
I  can  hardly  be  accused  of  straying  into  the  regions  of 
private  scandal  when  I  speak  of  two  books  which  had  a 
wide  circulation,  are  still  being  read,  and  may  be  had,  I 
presume,  in  any  New  York  book-store  where  French  lit- 
erature is  sold.  The  former  of  the  two  books,  "  She 
and  He,"  was  a  story,  or  something  which  purported  to 
be  a  story,  by  George  Sand,  telling  of  two  ill-assorted 
beings  whom  fate  had  thrown  together  for  awhile,  and 
of  whom  the  woman  was  all  tenderness,  love,  patience, 
the  man  all  egotism,  selfishness,  sensuousness,  and  eccen- 
I  tricity.  The  point  of  the  whole  business  was  to  show 
f  how  sublimely  the  woman  suffered,  and  how  wantonly 
'  the  man  flung  happiness  away.  Had  it  been  merely  a 
piece   of  fiction,  it  must  have  been  regarded  by  any 


GEORGB  SAND.  13 

healthy  mind  as  a  morbid,  imwholesome,  disagreeable 
production,  —  a  sin  of  the  highest  aesthetic  kind  against 
true  art,  which  must  always,  even  in  its  pathos  and  it8 
tragedy,  leave  on  the  mind  exalted  and  delightful  impres- 
sions. But  every  one  in  Paris  at  once  hailed  the  story 
as  a  chapter  of  autobiography,  as  the  author's  vindication 
of  one  episode  in  her  own  career,  —  a  vindication  at  the 
expense  of  a  man  who  had  gone  down,  ruined  and  lost, 
to  an  early  grave.  Therefore  the  brother  of  the  dead 
man  flung  into  literature  a  little  book  called  "  He  and 
She,"  in  which  a  story,  substantially  the  same  in  its  out- 
lines, is  so  told  as  exactly  to  reverse  the  conditions  under 
which  the  verdict  of  public  opinion  was  sought.  Very 
curious  indeed  was  the  manner  in  which  the  same  sub- 
stance of  facts  was  made  to  present  the  two  principal 
figures  with  complexions  and  characters  so  strangely 
altered.  In  the  woman's  book  the  woman  was  made  the 
patient,  loving,  suffering  victim  ;  in  the  man's  reply  this 
same  woman  was  depicted  as  the  most  utterly  selfish  and 
depraved  creature  the  human  imagination  could  conceive. 
Even  if  one  had  no  other  means  whatever  of  forming  an 
estimate  of  the  character  of  George  Sand,  it  would  be 
hardly  possible  to  accept  as  her  likeness  the  hideous  pic- 
ture sketched  by  Paul  de  Musset.  No  woman,  I  am  glad 
to  believe,  ever  existed  in  real  life  so  utterly  selfish,  base, 
and  wicked  as  his  bitter  pen  has  drawn.  I  must  say  that 
the  thing  is  very  cleverly  done.  The  picture  is  at  least 
consistent  with  itself.  As  a  character  in  romance  it  might 
be  pronounced  original,  bold,  brilliant,  and,  in  an  artistic 
sense,  quite  natural.  There  is  something  thoroughly 
French  in  the  easy  and  delicate  force  of  the  final  touch 
with  which  de  Musset  dismisses  his  hideous  subject. 
Having  sketched  this  woman  in  tints  that  seem  to  flame 


14  GEORGE  SAND. 

across  the  eyes  of  the  reader,  —  having  described  with 
wonderful  realism  and  power  her  affectation,  her  deceit, 
her  reckless  caprices,  her  base  and  cruel  coquetries, 
her  devouring  wantonness,  her  soul-destroying  arts,  her 
unutterable  selfishness  and  egotism,  —  having,  to  use  a 
vulgar  phrase,  "turned  her  inside  out,"  and  told  her 
story  backwards,  —  the  author  calmly  explains  that  the 
hero  of  the  narrative  in  his  dying  hour  called  his  brother 
to  his  bedside,  and  enjoined  him,  if  occasion  should  ever 
arise,  if  the  partner  of  his  sin  should  ever  calumniate 
him  in  his  grave,  to  vindicate  his  memory,  and  avenge 
the  treason  practised  upon  him.  "  Of  course,"  adds  the 
narrator,  "  the  brother  made  the  promise,  —  and  I  have 
since  heard  that  he  has  kept  his  word."  I  can  hardly 
hope  to  convey  to  the  reader  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
effect  produced  on  the  mind  by  these  few  simple  words 
of  compressed,  whispered  hatred  and  triumph,  closing  a 
philippic,  or  a  revelation,  or  a  libel  of  such  extraordinary 
bitterness  and  ferocity.  The  whole  episode  is,  I  believe 
and  earnestly  hope,  without  precedent  or  imitation  in 
literary  controversy.  Never,  that  I  know  of,  has  a  living 
woman  been  publicly  exhibited  to  the  world  in  a  por- 
traiture so  hideous  as  that  which  Paul  de  Musset  drew 
of  George  Sand.  Never,  that  I  know  of,  has  any  woman 
gone  so  near  to  deserving  and  justifying  such  a  measure 
of  retaliation. 

For  if  it  be  assumed,  —  and  I  suppose  it  never  has  been 
disputed,  —  that  in  writing  "  Elle  et  Lui"  George  Sand 
meant  to  describe  herself  and  Alfred  de  Musset,  it  is  hard 
to  conceive  of  any  sin  against  taste  and  feeling,  —  against 
art  and  morals,  —  more  flagrant  than  such  a  publication. 
The  practice,  to  which  French  writers  are  so  much  ad- 
dicted, of  making  "  copy  "  of  the  private  lives,  charac- 


GEORGE  SAND.  15 

ters,  and  relationships  of  themselves  and  their  friends, 
seems  to  me  in  all  cases  utterly  detestable.  Lamartine*8 
sins  of  this  kind  were  grievous  and  glaring ;  but  were 
they  red  as  scarlet,  they  would  seem  whiter  than  snow 
when  compared  with  the  lurid  monstrosity  of  George 
Sand*s  assault  on  the  memory  of  the  dead  poet  who  was 
once  her  favorite.  The  whole  affair,  indeed,  is  so  unlike 
anything  which  could  occur  in  America  or  in  England, 
that  we  can  hardly  find  any  canons  by  which  to  try  it,  or 
any  standard  of  punishment  by  which  to  regulate  its  cen- 
sure. I  allude  to  it  now  because  it  is  the  only  substan- 
tial evidence  1  know  of  which  does  fairly  seem  to  justify 
the  worst  of  the  accusations  brought  against  George  Sand  ; 
and  I  do  not  think  it  right,  when  writing  for  grown  men 
and  women,  who  are  supposed  to  have  sense  and  judg- 
ment, to  affect  not  to  know  that  such  accusations  are 
made,  or  to  pretend  to  think  that  it  would  be  proper  not 
to  allude  to  them.  They  have  been  put  forward,  replied 
to,  urged  again,  made  the  theme  of  all  manner  of  contro- 
versy in  scores  of  French  and  in  some  English  publica- 
tions. Pray  let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that  I  am  not 
entering  into  any  criticism  of  the  morality  of  any  part  of 
George  Sand's  private  life.  With  that  we  have  nothing 
here  to  do,  I  am  now  dealing  with  the  question,  fairly 
belonging  to  public  controversy,  whether  the  grent  artist 
did  not  deliberately  deal  with  human  hearts  as  the  painter 
of  old  is  said  to  have  done  with  a  purchased  slave,  —  in- 
flicting torture  in  order  the  better  to  learn  how  to  depict 
the  struggles  and  contortions  of  mortal  agony.  In  an- 
swer to  such  a  question  I  can  only  point  to  "  Lucrezia 
Floriani "  and  to  "  Elle  et  Lui,"  and  say  that  unless  the 
universal  opinion  of  qualified  critics  be  wrong,  these  books, 
and  others  too,  owe  their  piquancy  and  their  dramatic 


l6  GEORGE  SAND, 

force  to  the  anatomization  of  dead  passions  and  discarded 
lovers.  We  have  all  laughed  over  the  pedantic  surgeon  in 
Moliere*s  "  Malade  Imaginaire,"  who  invites  his  fiancee, 
as  a  delightful  treat,  to  see  him  dissect  the  body  of  a 
woman.  I  am  afraid  that  George  Sand  did  sometime? 
invite  an  admiring  public  to  an  exhibition  yet  mort 
ghastly  and  revolting,  —  the  dissection  of  the  heart  of  h 
dead  lover. 

But,  in  truth,  we  shall  never  judge  George  Sand  and 
her  writings  at  all,  if  we  insist  on  criticising  them  from 
any  point  of  view  set  up  by  the  proprieties  or  even  tha 
moralities  of  Old  Endand  or  New  Endand.  When  the 
passionate  young  woman,  —  in  whose  veins  ran  the  wild 
blood  of  Marshal  Saxe,  —  found  herself  surrendered  by 
legality  and  prescription  to  a  marriage  bond  against  which 
her  soul  revolted,  society  seemed  for  her  to  have  resolved 
itself  into  its  original  elements.  Its  conventionalities  and 
traditions  contained  nothing  which  she  held  herself  bound 
to  respect.  The  world  was  not  her  friend,  nor  the  world's 
law.  By  one  great  decisive  step  she  sundered  herself 
forever  from  the  bonds  of  what  we  call  ''  society."  She 
had  shaken  the  dust  of  convention  from  her  feet ;  the 
world  was  all  before  her  where  to  choose.  No  crea- 
ture on  earth  is  so  absolutely  free  as  the  Frenchwoman 
who  has  broken  with  society.  There,  then,  stood  this 
daring  young  woman,  on  the  threshold  of  a  new,  fresh, 
and  illimitable  world ;  a  young  woman  gifted  with 
genius  such  as  our  later  years  have  rarely  seen,  and 
blessed  or  cursed  with  a  nature  so  strangely  uniting  the 
most  characteristic  qualities  of  man  and  woman,  as  to  be 
in  itself  quite  unparalleled  and  unique.  Just  think  of 
it,  —  try  to  think  of  it !  Society  and  the  world  had  no 
longer  any  laws  which  she  recognized.     Nothing  was 


GEORGE  SAND. 


17 


sacred  ;  nothing  was  settled.  She  had  to  evolve  from  her 
own  heart  and  brain  her  own  law  of  life.  What  wonder 
if  she  made  some  sad  mistakes?  Nay,  is  it  not  rather  a 
theme  for  wonder  and  admiration  that  she  did  somehow 
come  right  at  last  ?  I  know  of  no  one  who  seems  to  me 
to  have  been  open  at  once  to  the  temptations  of  woman's 
nature  and  man's  nature,  except  this  George  Sand.  Her 
soul,  —  her  brain,  —  her  style  may  be  described,  from  one 
point  of  view,  as  exuberantly  and  splendidly  feminine ; 
yet  no  other  woman  has  ever  shown  the  same  power  of 
understandings  and  entering  into  the  nature  of  a  man.  If 
Balzac  is  the  only  man  who  has  ever  thoroughly  mastered 
the  mysteries  of  a  woman's  heart,  George  Sand  is  the 
only  woman,  so  far  as  I  know,  who  has  ever  shown  that 
she  could  feel  as  a  man  can  feel.  I  have  read  stray  pas- 
sages in  her  novels  which  I  would  confidently  submit  to 
the  criticism  of  any  intelligent  men  unacquainted  with 
the  text,  convinced  that  they  would  declare  that  only  a 
man  could  have  thus  analyzed  the  emotions  of  manhood. 
I  have  in  my  mind,  just  now  especially,  a  passage  in  the 
Qovel  "  Piccinino  "  which,  were  the  authorship  unknown, 
would,  I  am  satisfied,  secure  the  decision  of  a  jury  of  lit- 
erary experts  that  the  author  must  be  a  man.  Now  this 
gift  of  entire  appreciation  of  the  feelings  of  a  different 
sex  or  race  is,  I  take  it,  one  of  the  rarest  and  highest 
dramatic  qualities.  Especially  is  it  difficult  for  a  woman, 
as  our  social  life  goes,  to  enter  into  the  feelings  of  a  man. 
While  men  and  women  alike  admit  the  accuracy  of  cer- 
tain pictures  of  women  drawn  by  such  artists  as  Cer- 
vantes, Moliere,  Balzac,  and  Thackeray,  there  are  few 
women,  —  indeed,  perhaps  there  are  no  women  but  one,  — 
Oy  whom  a  man  has  been  so  painted  as  to  challenge  and 
compel  the  recognition  and  acknowledgment  of  men.  Id 
J 


l8  GEORGE  SAND, 

"  The  Galaxy,"  some  months  ago,  I  wrote  of  a  great 
Englishwoman,  the  authoress  of  "  Romola,'*  and  I  ex- 
pressed my  conviction  that  on  the  whole  she  is  entitled  to 
higher  rank,  as  a  novelist,  than  even  the  authoress  of 
"  Consuelo."  Many,  very  many  men  and  women,  for 
whose  judgment  I  have  the  highest  respect,  diifered 
from  me  in  this  opinion.  I  still  hold  it,  nevertheless ; 
but  I  freely  admit  that  George  Eliot  has  nothing  like  the 
dramatic  insight  which  enables  George  Sand  to  enter  into 
the  feelings  and  experiences  of  a  man.  I  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that,  having  some  knowledge  of  the  literature  of 
fiction  in  most  countries,  I  am  not  aware  of  the  existence 
of  any  woman  but  this  one,  who  could  draw  a  real,  living, 
struggling,  passion-tortured  man.  All  other  novelists  of 
George  Sand's  sex,  —  even  including  Charlotte  Bronte,  — 
draw  only  what  I  may  call  "  women's  men."  If  ever  the 
two  natures  could  be  united  in  one  form,  —  if  ever  a 
single  human  being  could  have  the  soul  of  man  and  the 
soul  of  woman  at  once,  —  George  Sand  might  be  de- 
scribed as  that  physical  and  psychological  phenomenon. 
Now  the  point  to  which  I  wish  to  direct  attention,  is  the 
peculiarity  of  the  temptation  to  which  a  nature  such  as  this 
was  necessarily  exposed  at  every  turn  when,  free  of  all  re- 
straint and  a  rebel  against  all  conventionality,  it  confronted 
the  world  and  the  world's  law,  and  stood  up,  itself  alone, 
against  the  domination  of  custom  and  the  majesty  of  tra- 
dition. I  claim,  then,  that  when  we  have  taken  all  these 
considerations  into  account,  we  are  bound  to  admit  that 
Aurora  Dudevant  deserves  the  generous  recognition  of 
the  world  for  the  use  which  she  made  of  her  splendid 
gifts.  Her  influence  on  French  literature  has  been,  on 
the  Avhole,  a  purifying  and  strengthening  power.  The 
cynicism,  the  recklessness,  the  wanton,  licentious  disr»« 


GEORGE  SAND. 


19 


^ard  of  any  manner  of  principle,  the  debasing  parade  of 
disbelief  in  any  higher  purpose  or  nobler  restraint,  which 
are  the  shame  and  curse  of  modem  French  fiction,  find 
no  sanction  in  the  pages  of  George  Sand.  I  remember 
no  passage  in  her  works  which  gives  the  slightest  encour- 
agement to  the  "  nothing  new,  and  nothing  true,  and  it 
don't  signify  "  code  of  ethics  which  has  been  so  much  in 
fashion  of  late  years.  I  find  nothing  in  George  Sand 
which  does  not  do  homage  to  the  existence  of  a  principle 
and  a  law  in  everything.  This  daring  woman,  who  broke 
with  society  so  early  and  so  conspicuously,  has  always  in- 
sisted, through  every  illustration,  character,  and  catas- 
trophe in  her  books,  that  the  one  only  reality,  the  one  only 
thing  that  can  endure,  is  the  rule  of  right  and  of  virtue. 
Nor  has  she  ever,  that  I  can  recollect,  fallen  into  the  en- 
feebling and  sentimental  theory  so  commonly  expressed  in 
the  works  of  Victor  Hugo,  that  the  vague  abstraction 
society  is  always  to  bear  the  blame  of  the  faults  commit- 
ted by  the  individual  man  or  woman.  Of  all  persons  in 
the  world,  Aurora  Dudevant  might  be  supposed  most  likely 
to  adopt  this  easy  and  complacent  theory  as  her  guiding 
principle.  She  had  every  excuse,  every  reason  for  en- 
deavoring to  preach  up  the  doctrine  that  our  errors  are 
societ/s  and  our  virtues  our  own.  But  I  am  not  aware 
that  she  ever  taught  any  lesson  save  the  lesson  that  men 
and  women  must  endeavor  to  be  heroes  and  heroines  for 
themselves,  heroes  and  heroines  though  all  the  world  else 
were  craven,  and  weak,  and  selfish,  and  unprincipled. 
Even  that  wretched  and  lamentable  "  Elle  et  Lui"  affair, 
utterly  inexcusable  as  it  is  when  we  read  between  the  lines 
its  secret  history,  has,  at  least,  the  merit  of  being  an  earn- 
est and  powerful  protest  against  the  egotistical  and  debas- 
ing indulgence  of  moral  weaknesses  and  eccentricities 


ao  GEORGE  SAND. 

which  mean  and  vulgar  minds  are  apt  to  regard  as  tha 
privilege  of  genius.  "  Stand  upon  your  own  ground ;  bo 
your  own  ruler ;  look  to  yourself,  not  to  your  stars,  for 
your  failure  or  success ;  always  make  your  standard  a 
lofty  ideal,  and  try  persistently  to  reach  it,  though  all  the 
temptations  of  earth,  and  all  the  power  of  darkness  strive 
against  you  "  —  this,  and  nothing  else,  if  I  have  read  her 
books  rightly,  is  the  moral  taught  by  George  Sand.  She 
may  be  wrong  in  her  principle  sometimes,  but,  at  least, 
she  always  has  a  principle.  She  has  a  profound  and  gen- 
erous faith  in  the  possibilities  of  human  nature ;  in  the 
capacity  of  man's  heart  for  purity,  self-sacrifice,  and  self- 
redemption.  Indeed,  so  far  is  she  from  holding  counsel 
with  wilful  weakness  or  sin,  that  I  think  she  sometimes 
falls  into  the  noble  error  of  painting  her  heroes  as  too 
glorious  in  their  triumph  over  temptation,  in  their  subju- 
gation of  every  passion  and  interest  to  the  dictates  of  duty 
and  of  honor.  Take,  for  instance,  that  extraordinary 
book  which  has  just  been  given  to  the  American  public 
in  Miss  Virginia  Vaughan's  excellent  translation,  ''Mau* 
prat."  If  I  understand  that  magnificent  romance  at  all, 
its  purport  is  to  prove  that  no  human  nature  is  ever 
plunged  into  temptation  beyond  its  own  strength  to  resist, 
provided  that  it  really  wills  resistance  ;  that  no  character 
is  irretrievable,  no  error  inexpiable,  where  there  is  sincere 
resolve  to  expiate,  and  longing  desire  to  retrieve.  Take^ 
again,  that  exquisite  little  story,  "  La  Demiere  Aldini "  ;; 
I  do  not  know  where  one  could  find  a  finer  illustration  ot 
the  entire  sacrifice  of  man's  natural  impulse,  passion,  in- 
terest, to  what  might  almost  be  called  an  abstract  idea  of 
honor  and  principle.  I  have  never  read  this  little  story 
without  wondering  how  many  men  one  ever  has  known 
who,  placed  in  the  same  situation  as  that  of  Nello,  tha 


^  GEORGE  SAND,  21 

hero,  would  have  done  the  same  thing ;  and  yet  so  simply 
and  naturally  are  the  characters  wrought  out,  and  the  in- 
cidents described,  that  the  idea  of  pompous,  dramatic  self- 
sacrifice  never  enters  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  it  seems 
to  him  that  Nello  could  not  do  otherwise  than  as  he  is 
doing.  I  speak  of  these  two  stories  particularly,  because 
in  both  of  them  there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  world  and  the 
flesh ;  that  is,  both  are  stories  of  strong  human  passion 
and  temptation.  Many  of  George  Sand's  novels,  the 
shorter  ones  especially,  are  as  absolutely  pure  in  moral 
tone,  as  entirely  free  from  even  a  taint  or  suggestion  of 
impurity,  as  they  are  perfect  in  style.  Now,  if  we  cannot 
help  knowing  that  much  of  this  great  woman's  life  was  far 
from  being  irreproachable,  are  we  not  bound  to  give  her 
all  the  fuller  credit,  because  her  genius,  at  least,  kept  so- 
far  the  whiteness  of  its  soul  ?  Revolutions  are  not  to  be 
made  with  rose-water ;  you  cannot  have  omelettes  without 
breaking  of  eggs.  I  am  afraid  that  great  social  revolu- 
tionists are  not  often  creatures  of  the  most  pure  and  per- 
fect nature.  It  is  not  to  patient  Griselda  you  must  look 
for  any  protest  against  even  the  uttermost  tyranny  of  so- 
cial conventions.  One  thing  I  think  may,  at  least,  be 
admitted  as  part  of  George  Sand's  vindication,  —  that  the 
marriage  system  in  France  is  the  most  debased  and  debas- 
ing institution  existing  in  civilized  society,  now  that  the 
buying  and  selling  of  slaves  has  ceased  to  be  a  tolerated 
system.  I  hold  that  the  most  ardent  advocates  of  the 
irrevocable  endurance  of  the  marriage  bond  are  bound,  by 
their  very  principles,  to  admit  that,  in  protesting  against 
the  so-called  marriage  system  of  France,  George  Sand 
stood  on  the  side  of  purity  and  right.  Assuredly,  she 
often  went  into  extravagances  in  the  other  direction.  It 
8eems  to  be  the  fate  of  all  French  reformers  to  rush  sud* 


22  GEORGE  SAND. 

denly  to  extremes  ;  and  we  must  remember  that  George 
Sand  was  not  a  Bristol  Quakeress,  or  a  Boston  transcend- 
€ntalist,  but  a  passionate  Frenchwoman,  the  descendant 
■of  one  of  the  maddest  votaries  of  love  and  war  who  ever 
fitormed  across  the  stage  of  European  history. 

Regarding  George  Sand,  then,  as  an  influence  in  litera- 
ture, and  on  society,  I  claim  for  her  at  least  four  great 
.and  special  merits :  First,  she  insisted  on  calling  public 
attention  to  the  true  principle  of  marriage  ;  that  is  to  say, 
■she  put  the  question  as  it  had  not  been  put  before.  Of 
course,  the  fundamental  principle  she  would  have  enforced 
is  always  being  urged  more  or  less  feebly,  more  or  less 
sincerely ;  but  she  made  it  her  own  question,  and  illumin- 
ated it  by  the  fervid,  fierce  rays  of  her  genius  and  her 
-passion.  Secondly,  her  works  are  an  exposition  of  the 
tremendous  reality  of  the  feelings  which  people  who  call 
themselves  practical  are  apt  to  regard  with  indifference  or 
-contempt  as  mere  sentiments.  In  the  long  run,  the  pas- 
sions decide  the  life-question  one  way  or  the  other.  They 
are  the  tide  which,  as  you  know  or  do  not  know  how  to 
use  it,  will  either  turn  your  miU  and  float  your  boat,  or 
drown  your  fields  and  sweep  away  your  dwellings.  Life 
•and  society  receive  no  impulse  and  no  direction  from  the 
influences  out  of  which  the  novels  of  Dickens,  or  even  of 
Thackeray,  are  made  up.  These  are  but  pleasant  or  ten- 
der toying  with  the  playthings  and  puppets  of  existence. 
■George  Sand  constrains  us  to  look  at  the  realities  through 
the  medium  of  her  fiction.  Thirdly,  she  insists  that  man 
can  and  shall  make  his  own  career ;  not  whine  to  the 
stars,  and  rail  out  against  the  powers  above,  when  he  has 
weakly  or  wantonly  marred  his  own  destiny.  Fourthly, 
—  and  this  ought  not  to  be  considered  her  least  service  to 
the  literature  of  her  country,  —  she  has  tried  to  teach 


GEORGE  SAND. 


23 


people  to  look  at  Nature  with  their  own  ey^s,  and  to  invite 
the  true  love  of  her  to  flow  into  their  hearts.  The  great 
service  which  Ruskin,  with  all  his  eccentricities  and  ex- 
travagances, has  rendered  to  English-speaking  peoples  by 
teaching  them  to  use  their  own  eyes  when  they  look  at 
clouds,  and  waters,  and  grasses,  and  hills,  George  Sand 
has  rendered  to  France. 

I  hold  that  these  are  virtues  and  services  which 
ought  to  outweigh  even  very  grave  personal  and 
artistic  errors.  We  often  hear  that  this  or  that  great 
poet  or  romancist  has  painted  men  as  they  are ;  this 
other  as  they  ought  to  be.  I  think  George  Sand  paints 
men  as  they  are,  and  also  not  merely  as  they  ought  to  be, 
but  as  they  can  be.  The  sum  of  the  lesson  taught  by 
her  books  is  one  of  confidence  in  man's  possibilities,  and 
hope  in  his  steady  progress.  At  the  same  time  she  is 
entirely  practical  in  her  faith  and  her  aspirations.  She 
never  expects  that  the  trees  are  to  grow  up  into  the 
heavens,  that  men  and  women  are  to  be  other  than  men 
and  women.  She  does  not  want  them  to  be  other ;  she 
finds  the  springs  and  sources  of  their  social  regeneration 
in  the  fact  that  they  are  just  what  they  are,  to  begin 
with.  I  am  afraid  some  of  the  ladies  who  seem  to  base 
their  scheme  of  woman's  emancipation  and  equality  on  the 
assumption  that,  by  some  development  of  time  or 
process  of  schooling,  a  condition  of  things  is  to  be 
brought  about  where  difference  of  sex  is  no  longer  to  be 
a  disturbing  power,  will  find  small  comfort  or  encourage- 
ment in  the  writings  of  George  Sand.  She  deals  in 
realities  altogether  ;  the  realities  of  life,  even  when  they 
are  such  as  to  shallow  minds  may  seem  mere  sentiments 
and  ecstacies ;  the  realities  of  society,  of  suffering,  of 
passion,  of  inanimate  nature.     There  is  in  her  nothing 


24  GEORGE  SAND. 

unmeaning,  nothing  untrue  ;  there  is  in  her  much  error, 
doubtless,  but  no  sham. 

I  believe  George  Sand  is  growing  into  a  quiet  and 
beautiful  old  age.  After  a  life  of  storm  and  stress,  a  life 
which,  metaphorically  at  least,  was  "  worn  by  war  and 
passion,"  her  closing  years  seem  likely  to  be  gilded  with 
the  calm  glory  of  an  autumnal  sunset.  One  is  glad  to 
think  of  her  thus  happy  and  peaceful,  accepting  so 
tranquilly  the  reality  of  old  age,  still  laboring  with  hef 
unwearied  pen,  still  delighting  in  books,  and  landscapes, 
and  friends,  and  work.  The  world  can  well  afford  to 
forget  as  soon  as  possible  her  literary  and  other  errors. 
Of  the  vast  mass  of  romances,  stories,  plays,  sketches, 
criticisms,  pamphlets,  political  articles,  even,  it  is  said, 
ministerial  manifestoes  of  republican  days,  which  she 
poured  out,  only  a  few  comparatively  will  perhaps  be 
always  treasured  by  posterity  ;  but  these  will  be  enough 
to  secure  her  a  classic  place.  And  she  will  not  be 
remembered  by  her  writings  alone.  Hers  is  probably 
the  most  powerful  individuality  displayed  by  any  mod- 
ern Frenchwoman.  The  influence  of  Madame  Roland 
was  but  a  glittering  unreality,  that  of  Madame  de 
Stael  only  a  boudoir  and  coterie  success,  when  com- 
pared with  the  power  exercised  over  literature,  human 
feeling,  and  social  law,  by  the  energy,  the  courage,  the 
genius,  even  the  very  errors  and  extravagances  of  George 
Sand. 


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